LIBRARY 

University   of 

IRVINE 


The  Dragon  Painter 


The  Dragon  Painter 


By 

Mary  McNeil  Fenollosa 

Author  of  "  Truth  Dexter,"  "The  Breath  of  the  Gods,' 

"  Out  of  the  Nest :   A  Flight  of  Verses," 

etc. 


Illustrated  by 
Gertrude  McDaniel 


4 

Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 
1906 


Ps 

Itflo 


Copyright,  1905, 
BY  P.  F.  COLLIEE  &  SON. 

Copyright,  1906, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY, 


All  rights  reserved 


Published  October,  1906 


THE   UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    IT.  S.  A. 


The  story  of  "  The  Dragon  Painter"  in 

a   shorter  form,  was  originally  published  in 

"Colliers"      It  has    since    been    practically 
rewritten. 


TO 

KANO   YEITAN 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Another  step,  and  she  was  in  the  room  "    .    Frontispiece 

"With  the  soft  tuft  of  camel  hair  he  blurred 
against  the  peak  pale,  luminous  vapor  of 
new  cloud Page  124 

"  He  walked  up  and  down,  sometimes  in  the 

narrow  room,  sometimes  in  the  garden  "     .      "126 

" '  Come,  Dragon  Wife/  he  said,  '  come  back  to 

our  little  home '" «     150 

"  Ume-ko  leaned  over  instantly,  staring  down 

into  the  stream  " "170 

"  Then  a  little  hand,  stealing  from  a  nun's  gray 

sleeve,  slipped  into  his  " "     259 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 


THE  old  folks  call  it  Yeddo.     To  the 
young,  "  Tokyo  "  has  a  pleasant,  mod 
ern   sound,    and    comes   glibly.     But 
whether  young  or  old,  those  whose  home  it 
is  know  that  the  great  flat  city,  troubled  with 
green  hills,  cleft  by  a  shining  river,  and  veined 
in  living  canals,  is  the  central  spot  of  all  the 
world. 

Storms  visit  Tokyo, — with  fury  often,  some 
times  with  destruction.  Earthquakes  cow  it ; 
snow  falls  upon  its  temple  roofs,  swings  in 
wet,  dazzling  masses  from  the  bamboo  plumes, 
or  balances  in  white  strata  along  green-black 
pine  branches.  The  summer  sun  scorches 
the  face  of  Yeddo,  and  summer  rain  comes 
down  in  wide  bands  of  light.  With  evening 
the  mist  creeps  up,  thrown  over  it  like  a 
covering,  casting  a  spell  of  silence  through 
i  1 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

which  the  yellow  lanterns  of  the  hurrying 
jinrikishas  dance  an  elfish  dance,  and  the 
voices  of  the  singing-girls  pierce  like  fine 
blades  of  sound. 

But  to  know  the  full  charm  of  the  great 
city,  one  must  wake  with  it  at  some  rebirth 
of  dawn.  This  hour  gives  to  the  imaginative 
in  every  land  a  thrill,  a  yearning,  and  a  pang 
of  visual  regeneration.  In  no  place  is  this 
wonder  more  deeply  touched  with  mystery 
than  in  modern  Tokyo. 

Far  off  to  the  east  the  Sumida  River  lies  in 
sleep.  Beyond  it,  temple  roofs — black  keels 
of  sunken  vessels  —  cut  a  sky  still  powdered 
thick  with  stars.  Nothing  moves,  and  yet  a 
something  changes  !  The  darkness  shivers  as 
to  a  cold  touch.  A  pallid  haze  breathes 
wanly  on  the  surface  of  the  impassive  sky. 
The  gold  deepens  swiftly  and  turns  to  a  faint 
rose  flush.  The  stars  scamper  away  like 
mice. 

Across  the  moor  of  gray  house  eaves  the 
mist  wavers.  Day  troubles  it.  A  pink  light 

2 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

rises  to  the  zenith,  and  the  mist  shifts  and 
slips  away  in  layers,  pink  and  gold  and  white. 
Now  far  beyond  the  grayness,  to  the  west, 
the  cone  of  Fuji  flashes  into  splendor.  It, 
too,  is  pink.  Its  shape  is  of  a  lotos  bud, 
and  the  long  fissures  that  plough  a  moun 
tain  side  are  now  but  delicate  gold  veining 
on  a  petal.  Slowly  it  seems  to  open.  It 
is  the  chalice  of  a  new  day,  the  signal  and 
the  pledge  of  consecration.  Husky  crows 
awake  in  the  pine  trees,  and  doves  under 
the  temple  eaves.  The  east  is  red  beyond 
the  river,  and  the  round,  red  sun,  insignia 
of  this  land,  soars  up  like  a  cry  of  triumph. 
On  the  glittering  road  of  the  Sumida, 
loaded  barges,  covered  for  the  night  with 
huge  squares  of  fringed  straw  mats,  begin 
to  nod  and  preen  themselves  like  a  covey 
of  gigantic  river  birds.  Sounds  of  prayer 
and  of  silver  matin  bells  come  from  the 
temples,  where  priest  and  acolyte  greet  the 
Lord  Buddha  of  a  new  day.  From  tiny 
chimney  less  kitchens  of  a  thousand  homes 

3 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

thin  blue  feathers  of  smoke  make  slow  up 
ward  progress,  to  be  lost  in  the  last  echoes 
of  the  vanishing  mist.  Sparrows  begin  to 
chirp,  first  one,  then  ten,  then  thousands. 
Their  voices  have  the  clash  and  chime  of 
a  myriad  small  triangles. 

The  wooden  outer  panels  (amado)  of 
countless  dwellings  are  thrust  noisily  aside 
and  stacked  into  a  shallow  closet.  The 
noise  reverberates  from  district  to  district 
in  a  sharp  musketry  of  sound.  Maid  ser 
vants  call  cheerily  across  bamboo  fences. 
Shoji  next  are  opened,  disclosing  often  the 
dull  green  mosquito  net  hung  from  corner 
to  corner  of  the  low- ceiled  sleeping  rooms. 
Children,  in  brilliant  night  robes,  run  to  the 
verandas  to  see  the  early  sun;  cocks  strut  in 
pigmy  gardens.  Now,  from  along  the  streets 
rise  the  calls  of  flower  peddlers,  of  venders 
of  fish,  bean-curd,  vegetables,  and  milk. 
Thus  the  day  comes  to  modern  Tokyo, 
which  the  old  folks  still  call  Yeddo. 

On  such  a  midsummer  dawn,  not  many 
4 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

years  ago,  old  Kano  Indara,  sleeping  in  his 
darkened  chamber,  felt  the  summons  of  an 
approaching  joy.  Beauty  tugged  at  his 
dreams.  Smiling,  as  a  child  that  is  led  by 
love,  he  rose,  drew  aside  softly  the  shoji, 
then  the  amado  of  his  room,  and  then,  with 
face  uplifted,  stepped  down  into  his  garden. 
The  beauty  of  the  ebbing  night  caught  at 
his  sleeve,  but  the  dawn  held  him  back. 

It  was  the  moment  just  before  the  great 
Sun  took  place  upon  his  throne.  Kano  still 
felt  himself  lord  of  the  green  space  round 
about  him.  On  their  pretty  bamboo  trel 
lises  the  potted  morning-glory  vines  held 
out  flowers  as  yet  unopened.  They  were 
fragile,  as  if  of  tissue,  and  were  beaded  at 
the  crinkled  tips  with  dew.  Kano's  eye 
lids,  too,  had  dew  of  tears  upon  them.  He 
crouched  close  to  the  flowers.  Something 
in  him,  too,  some  new  ecstacy  was  to  un 
furl.  His  lean  body  began  to  tremble.  He 
seated  himself  at  the  edge  of  the  narrow, 
railless  veranda  along  which  the  growing 

5 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

plants  were  ranged.  One  trembling  bud 
reached  out  as  if  it  wished  to  touch  him. 

The  old  man  shook  with  the  beating  of 
his  own  heart.  He  was  an  artist.  Could 
he  endure  another  revelation  of  joy?  Yes, 
his  soul,  renewed  ever  as  the  gods  them 
selves  renew  their  youth,  was  to  be  given 
the  inner  vision.  Now,  to  him,  this  was 
the  first  morning.  Creation  bore  down 
upon  him. 

The  flower,  too,  had  begun  to  tremble. 
Kano  turned  directly  to  it.  The  filmy, 
azure  angles  at  the  tip  were  straining  to 
part,  held  together  by  just  one  drop  of 
light.  Even  as  Kano  stared  the  drop  fell 
heavily,  plashing  on  his  hand.  The  flower, 
with  a  little  sob,  opened  to  him,  and  ques 
tioned  him  of  life,  of  art,  of  immortality. 
The  old  man  covered  his  face,  weeping. 

The  last  of  his  race  was  Kano  Indara;  the 
last  of  a  mighty  line  of  artists.  Even  in 
this  material  age  his  fame  spread  as  the 
mists  of  his  own  land,  and  his  name  was 

6 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

known  in  barbarian  countries  far  across  the 
sea.  Tokyo  might  fall  under  the  blight  of 
progress,  but  Kano  would  hold  to  the  tra 
ditions  of  his  race.  To  live  as  a  true  artist, 
— to  die  as  one, — this  was  his  care.  He 
might  have  claimed  high  position  in  the  great 
Art  Museum  recently  inaugurated  by  the 
new  government,  and  housed  in  an  abomi 
nation  of  pink  stucco  with  Moorish  towers 
at  the  four  corners.  He  might  even  have 
been  elected  president  of  the  new  Academy, 
and  have  presided  over  the  Italian  sculptors 
and  degenerate  French  painters  imported  to 
instruct  and  "civilize"  modern  Japan.  Stiff 
graphite  pencils,  making  lines  as  hard  and 
sharp  as  those  in  the  faces  of  foreigners 
themselves,  were  to  take  the  place  of  the 
soft  charcoal  flake  whose  stroke  was  of  satin 
and  young  leaves.  Horrible  brushes,  fash 
ioned  of  the  hair  of  swine,  pinched  in  by 
metal  bands,  and  wielded  with  a  hard  taper 
ing  stick  of  varnished  wood,  were  to  be 
thrust  into  the  hands  of  artists, — yes, — 

7 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

artists,  —  men  who,  from  childhood,  had 
known  the  soft  pliant  Japanese  brush  almost 
as  a  spirit  hand  ;  —  had  felt  the  joy  of  the  long 
stroke  down  fibrous  paper  where  the  very 
thickening  and  thinning  of  the  line,  the  turn 
of  the  brush  here,  the  easing  of  it  there, 
made  visual  music,  —  men  who  had  realized 
the  brush  as  part  not  only  of  the  body  but 
of  the  soul,  —  such  men,  indeed,  —  such 
artists,  were  to  be  offered  a  bunch  of  hog 
bristles,  set  in  foreign  tin.  Why,  even  in  the 
annals  of  Kano's  own  family  more  than  one 
faithful  brush  had  acquired  a  soul  of  its  own, 
and  after  the  master's  death  had  gone  on 
lamenting  in  his  written  name.  But  the 
foreigners'  brushes,  and  their  little  tubes  of 
ill-smelling  gum  colored  with  dead  hues  ! 
Kano  shuddered  anew  at  the  thought. 

Naturally  he  hated  all  new  forms  of  gov 
ernment.  He  regretted  and  deplored  the 
magnanimity  of  his  Emperor  in  giving  to 
his  people,  so  soon,  a  modern  constitution. 
What  need  had  Art  of  a  constitution  ? 

8 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Across  the  northern  end  of  Yeddo  runs 
the  green  welt  of  a  table-land.  Midway,  at 
the  base  of  this,  tucked  away  from  northern 
winds,  hidden  in  green  bamboo  hedges,  Kano 
lived,  a  mute  protest  against  the  new.  Be 
side  himself,  of  the  household  were  Ume-ko, 
his  only  child,  and  an  old  family  servant,  Mata. 

Kano's  garden,  always  the  most  important 
part  of  a  Japanese  dwelling  place,  ran  out 
in  one  continuous,  shallow  terrace  to  the 
south.  A  stone  wall  upheld  its  front  edge 
from  the  narrow  street;  and  on  top  of  this 
wall  stiff  hedges  grew.  In  one  corner,  how 
ever,  a  hillock  had  been  raised,  a  "  Moon 
Viewing  Place,"  such  as  poets  and  artists 
have  always  found  necessary.  From  its  flat 
top  old  Kano  had  watched  through  many 
years  the  rising  of  the  moon ;  had  seen,  as 
now,  a  new  dawn  possess  a  new-created 
earth, — had  traced  the  outlines  of  the  stars. 
By  day  he  sometimes  loved  to  watch  the 
little  street  below,  delighting  in  the  motion 
and  color  of  passing  groups. 

9 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

For  the  garden,  itself,  it  was  fashioned 
chiefly  of  sand,  pebbles,  stones,  and  many 
varieties  of  pine,  the  old  artist's  favorite  plant. 
A  small  rock-bound  pond  curved  about  the 
inner  base  of  the  moon-viewing  hill,  dupli 
cating  in  its  clear  surface  the  beauties  near. 
A  few  splendid  carp,  the  color  themselves  of 
dawn,  swam  lazily  about  with  noses  in  the 
direction  of  the  house  whence  came,  they 
well  knew,  liberal  offerings  of  rice  and  cake. 

Kano  had  his  plum  trees,  too ;  the  classic 
"  ume,"  loved  of  all  artists,  poets,  and  decent- 
minded  people  generally.  One  tree,  a  superb 
specimen  of  the  kind  called  "  Crouching- 
Dragon-Plum,"  writhed  and  twisted  near  the 
veranda  of  the  chamber  of  its  name-child, 
Ume-ko,  thrusting  one  leafy  arm  almost  to 
the  paper  shoji  of  her  wall.  Kano's  transient 
flowers  were  grown,  for  the  most  part  in  pots, 
and  these  his  daughter  Ume-ko  loved  to  tend. 
There  were  morning-glories  for  the  mid 
summer  season,  peonies  and  iris  for  the  spring, 
and  chrysanthemums  for  autumn.  One  for- 

10 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

eign  rose-plant,,  pink  of  bloom,  in  a  blue-gray 
jar,  had  been  pruned  and  trained  into  a  beauty 
that  no  western  rose-bush  ever  knew. 

Behind  the  Kano  cottage  the  rise  of  ground 
for  twenty  yards  was  of  a  grade  scarcely  per 
ceptible  to  the  eye.  Here  Mata  did  the  fam 
ily  washing ;  dried  daikon  in  winter,  and 
sweet-potato  slices  in  the  summer  sun.  This 
small  space  she  considered  her  special  domain, 
and  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  the  fact.  Be 
yond,  the  hill  went  upward  suddenly  with  the 
curve  of  a  cresting  wave.  Higher  it  rose  and 
higher,  bearing  a  tangled  growth  of  vines  and 
ferns  and  bamboo  grass  ;  higher  and  higher, 
until  it  broke,  in  sheer  mid-air,  with  a  coarse 
foam  of  rock,  thick  shrubs,  and  stony  ledges. 
Almost  at  the  zenith  of  the  cottage  garden  it 
poised,  and  a  great  camphor  tree,  centuries 
old,  soared  out  into  the  blue  like  a  green 
balloon. 

Behind  the  camphor  tree,  again,  and  not 
visible  from  the  garden  below,  stood  a  temple 
of  the  "  Shingon  "  sect,  the  most  mystic  of  the 

11 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

old  esoteric  Buddhist  forms.  To  the  rear  of 
this  the  broad,  low,  rectangular  buildings  of  a 
nunnery,  gray  and  old  as  the  temple  itself 
brooded  among  high  hedges  of  the  sacred 
mochi  tree.  This  retreat  had  been  famous 
for  centuries  throughout  Japan.  More  than 
once  a  Lady  Abbess  had  been  yielded  from 
the  Imperial  family.  Formerly  the  temple 
had  owned  many  koku  of  rich  land  ;  had  held 
feudal  sway  over  rice  fields  and  whole  vil 
lages,  deriving  princely  revenue.  With  the 
restoration  of  the  Emperor  to  temporal  power, 
some  thirty  years  before  the  beginning  of  this 
story,  most  of  the  land  had  been  confiscated  ; 
and  now,  shrunken  like  the  papal  power  at 
Rome,  the  temple  claimed,  in  land,  only  those 
acres  bounded  by  its  own  hedges  and  stone 
temple  walls.  There  were  the  main  building 
itself,  silent,  impressive  in  towering  majesty ; 
subordinate  chapels  and  dwellings  for  priests, 
a  huge  smoke-stained  refectory,  the  low  nun 
nery  in  its  spreading  gardens  and,  down  the 
northern  slope  of  the  hill,  the  cemetery,  a 

12 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

lichen-growth,  as  it  were,  of  bristling,  close- 
set  tombs  in  gray  stone,  the  splintered  regu 
larity  broken  in  places  by  the  tall  rounded 
column  of  a  priest's  grave,  set  in  a  ring  of 
wooden  sotoba.  At  irregular  intervals  clus 
ters  of  giant  bamboo  trees  sprang  like  green 
flame  from  the  fissures  of  gray  rock. 

Even  in  humiliation,  in  comparative  pov 
erty,  the  temple  dominated,  for  miles  around, 
the  imagination  of  the  people,  and  was  the 
great  central  note  of  the  landscape.  The  im 
mediate  neighborhood  was  jealously  proud  of 
it.  Country  folk,  journeying  by  the  street 
below,  looked  up  with  lips  that  whispered  in 
vocation.  Children  climbed  the  long  stone 
steps  to  play  in  the  temple  courtyard,  and  feed 
the  beautiful  tame  doves  that  lived  among 
the  carved  dragons  of  the  temple  eaves. 

In  that  gray  cemetery  on  the  further  slope 
Kano's  wife,  the  young  mother  who  died  so 
long  ago  that  Ume-ko  could  not  remember 
her  at  all,  slept  beneath  a  granite  shaft  which 
said,  "A  Flower  having  blossomed  in  the 

13 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Night,  the  Halls  of  the  Gods  are  fragrant." 
This  was  the  Buddhist  kaimyo,  or  priestly  in 
vocation  to  the  spirit  of  the  dead.  Of  the 
more  personal  part  of  the  young  mother,  her 
name,  age,  and  the  date  of  her  "  divine  retire 
ment,"  these  were  recorded  in  the  household 
shrine  of  the  Kano  cottage,  where  her  "  ihai  " 
stood,  just  behind  a  little  lamp  of  pure  vege 
table  oil  whose  light  had  never  yet  been 
suffered  to  die.  Through  this  shrine,  and  the 
daily  loving  offices  required  by  it,  she  had 
never  ceased  to  be  a  presence  in  the  house. 
Even  in  his  passionate  desire  for  a  son  to  in 
herit  the  name  and  traditions  of  his  race,  old 
Kano  had  not  been  able  to  endure  the  thought 
of  a  second  wife  who  might  wish  the  shrine 
removed. 

Ume-ko  and  her  father  were  well  known  at 
the  temple,  and  worshipped  often  before  its 
golden  altars.  But  Mata  scorned  the  cere 
mony  of  the  older  creed.  She  was  a  Shinshu, 
a  Protestant.  Her  sect  discarded  mysticism 
as  useless,  believed  in  the  marriage  of  priests, 

14 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  in  the  abolition  of  the  monastic  life,  and 
relied  for  salvation  only  on  the  love  and  mercy 
of  Amida,  the  Buddha  of  Light. 

Sometimes  at  twilight  a  group  of  shadowy 
human  figures,  gray  as  the  doves  themselves, 
crept  out  from  the  nunnery  gate,  crossed  the 
wide,  pebbled  courtyard  of  the  temple  and 
stood,  for  long  moments,  by  the  gnarled  roots 
of  the  camphor  tree,  staring  out  across  the 
beauty  of  the  plain  of  Yeddo  ;  its  shining  bay 
a  great  mirror  to  the  south,  and  off,  on  the 
western  horizon,  where  the  last  light  hung, 
Fuji,  a  cone  of  porphyry,  massive  against  the 
gold. 

For  a  full  hour,  now,  Kano  had  delighted 
in  the  morning-glories.  At  intervals  he 
strolled  about  the  garden  to  touch  separately, 
as  if  in  greeting,  each  beloved  plant.  Except 
for  the  deepening  fervor  of  the  sun  he  would 
have  kept  no  note  of  time.  The  last  shred  of 
mist  had  vanished.  Crows  and  sparrows  were 
busy  with  breakfast  for  their  nestlings. 

15 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  clamor  of  these 
feathered  parents  that,  at  last,  awoke  old 
Mata  in  her  sleeping  closet  near  the  kitchen. 
She  turned  drowsily.  The  presence  of  an 
unusual  light  under  the  shoji  brought  her  to 
her  knees.  The  amado  in  the  further  part 
of  the  house  were  undoubtedly  open.  Could 
robbers  have  come  in  the  night  ?  And  were 
her  master  and  Miss  Ume  weltering  in 
gore  ? 

She  was  on  her  feet  now,  pushing  with 
shaking  fingers  at  the  sliding  walls.  She 
peered  at  first  into  Ume's  room  for  there,  in 
deed,  lay  the  core  of  old  Mata's  heart.  A 
slender  figure  on  the  floor  stirred  slightly  and 
a  sound  of  soft  breathing  filled  the  silence. 
All  was  well  in  Ume's  room.  She  knocked 
then  on  Kano's  fusuma.  There  was  no  re 
sponse.  Cautiously  she  parted  them,  and  met 
an  incoming  flood  of  morning  light.  The 
walls  were  opened.  Through  the  small  square 
pillars  of  the  veranda  she  could  see,  as  in  a 
frame,  old  Kano  standing  in  the  garden  be- 

16 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

side  the  fish-pond.  Even  as  she  gazed,  in 
credulous  at  her  own  stupidity  in  sleeping  so 
late,  the  temple  bell  above  boomed  out  six 
slow  strokes.  Six  !  Such  a  thing  had  never 
been  known.  Well,  she  must  be  growing 
old  and  worthless.  She  had  better  fill  her 
sleeve  with  pebbles  and  cast  herself  into  the 
nearest  stream.  She  hurried  back,  a  tempes 
tuous  protest  in  every  step. 

"  Miss  Ume,  —  Ume-ko  !  "  she  called. 
"  Ma-a-a  !  What  has  come  to  us  both?  The 
Danna  San  walks  about  as  if  he  had  been 
awake  for  hours.  And  not  a  cup  of  tea  for 
him !  The  honorable  fire  does  not  exist. 
Surely  a  demon  of  sleep  has  bewitched  us." 

She  had  entered  the  girl's  room,  and  now, 
while  speaking,  crossed  the  narrow  space  to 
fling  wide,  first  the  shoji,  and  then  the  outer 
amado. 

Ume  moved  lazily.     Her  lacquered  pillow, 

with  its  bright  cushion,  rocked  as  she  stirred. 

"  No  demon  has  found  me,  Mata  San,"  she 

murmured,   smiling.     "  No   demon  unless  it 

2  17 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

be  you,  cruel  nurse,  who  have  dragged  me 
back  from  a  heavenly  dream." 

"  Baku  devour  your  dream  ! "  cried  Mata. 
"  I  say  there  is  no  fire  beneath  the  pot ! " 

Ume  sat  up  now,  and  smoothed  slowly  the 
loops  of  her  shining  hair.  The  yellow  morn 
ing  sun  danced  into  the  corners  of  her  room, 
rioted  among  the  hues  of  her  silken  bed  cov 
erings,  and  paused,  abashed,  as  it  were, 
before  the  delicate  beauty  of  her  face. 

As  Mata  scolded,  the  girl  nestled  back 
among  her  quilts,  smiling  mischievously. 
She  loved  to  tease  the  old  dame.  "No, 
nurse,"  she  protested,  "  that  cannot  be.  The 
baku  feeds  on  evil  dreams  alone,  and  this 
was  not  evil.  Ah,  nurse,  it  was  so  sweet 
a  dream " 

"  I  can  give  no  time  to  your  honorable 
fooling,"  cried  Mata,  in  pretended  anger. 
"  Have  I  the  arms  of  a  Hundred- Handed 
Kwannon  that  I  can  do  all  the  household 
work  at  once  ?  Attire  yourself  promptly,  I 
entreat:  prepare  one  of  the  small  trays  for 

18 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

your  august  parent,  and  get  out  two  of  the 
pickled  plums  from  the  blue  jar." 

Ume,  with  an  exaggerated  sigh  of  regret, 
rose  to  her  feet.  Quilt  and  cushions  were 
pushed  into  a  corner  for  later  airing.  Her 
toilet  was  swift  and  simple.  To  slip  the 
bright-colored  sleeping  robe  from  her  and 
toss  it  to  the  heaped-up  coverlids,  don  an 
undergarment  of  thin  white  linen  and  a  scant 
petticoat  of  blue  crepe,  draw  over  them  a  day 
robe  of  blue  and  white  cotton,  and  tie  all  in 
with  a  sash  of  brocaded  blue  and  gold,  —  that 
was  the  sum  of  it.  For  washing  she  had  a 
shallow  wooden  basin  on  the  kitchen  veranda, 
where  cold  water  splashed  incessantly  from 
bamboo  tubes  thrust  into  the  hillside.  Hur 
riedly  drying  her  face  and  hands  on  a  small 
towel  that  hung  from  a  swinging  bamboo 
hoop,  she  ran  into  the  kitchen  to  assist  the 
still  grumbling  Mata. 

By  this  time  old  Kano  had  again  seated 
himself  at  the  edge  of  his  veranda.  The 
summer  sun  grew  unpleasantly  warm.  The 

19 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

morning-glories  on  their  trellises  had  begun 
to  droop.  A  little  later  they  would  hang, 
wretched  and  limp,  mere  faded  scraps  of  dis 
solution.  Overhead  the  temple  bell  struck 
seven.  Kano  shuddered  at  this  foreign  mark 
ing  out  of  hours.  A  melancholy,  intense  as 
had  been  his  former  ecstacy,  began  to  enfold 
his  spirit.  Perhaps  he  had  waited  too  long 
for  the  simple  breakfast ;  perhaps  the  recent 
glory  had  drained  him  of  vital  force.  A 
hopelessness,  alike  of  life  and  death,  rose 
about  him  in  a  tide. 

Ume  prostrated  herself  upon  the  veranda 
near  him.  "  Good  morning,  august  father. 
Will  you  deign  to  enter  now  and  partake 
of  food?" 

Her  voice  and  the  morning  face  she  lifted 
might  have  won  a  smile  from  a  stone  image. 
Kano  turned  sourly.  "  Why,"  he  thought, 
"  in  Shaka's  name,  could  n't  she  have  been  a 
son  ? " 

He  rose,  however,  shaking  off  his  wooden 
clogs  so  that  they  remained  upon  the  path 

20 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

below,  and  followed  Ume  to  the  zashiki,  or 
main  room  of  the  house,  with  the  best  view 
of  the  garden. 

The  tea  was  delicious  in  its  first  delicate 
infusion  ;  the  pickled  plums  most  stimulating 
to  a  morning  appetite. 

"Rice  and  fish  will  soon  honorably  even 
tuate,"  Ume  assured  him  as  she  went  back, 
smiling,  into  the  kitchen. 

Kano  pensively  lifted  a  plum  upon  the 
point  of  a  toothpick  and  began  nibbling  at  its 
wrinkled  skin.  Yes,  why  could  she  not  have 
been  a  son  ?  As  it  was,  the  girl  could 
paint, — paint  far  better  than  most  women, 
even  the  famous  ones  of  old.  But,  after  all, 
no  woman  painter  could  be  supreme.  Love 
comes  first  with  women !  They  have  not  the 
strong  heart,  the  cruelty,  the  fierce  imagina 
tion  that  go  to  the  making  of  a  great  artist. 
Even  among  the  men  of  the  day,  corrupted 
and  distracted  as  they  are  by  foreign  inno 
vations,  could  real  strength  be  found  ?  Alas  ! 
Art  was  surely  doomed,  and  his  own  life, — 

21 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

the  life  of  the  last  great  Kano,  futile  and 
perishable  as  the  withering  flowers  on  their 
stems. 

He  ate  of  his  fish  and  rice  in  gloomy 
silence.  Ume's  gentle  words  failed  to  bring 
a  reply.  When  the  breakfast  dishes  were 
removed  the  old  man  continued  listlessly  in 
his  place,  staring  out  with  unseeing  eyes  into 
his  garden. 

A  loud  knock  came  to  the  wooden  en 
trance  gate  near  the  kitchen.  Kano  heard 
a  man's  deep  tones,  Mata's  thin  voice  an 
swering  an  enquiry,  and  then  the  soft  mur 
mur  of  Ume's  words.  An  instant  later, 
heavy  footsteps,  belonging  evidently  to  a 
wearer  of  foreign  shoes,  came  around  by  the 
side  of  the  house  toward  the  garden.  Kano 
looked  up,  frowning  with  annoyance.  A 
fine-looking  man  of  middle  age  appeared. 
Kano's  irritation  vanished. 

"  Ando  Uchida ! "  he  cried  aloud,  springing 
to  his  feet,  and  hurrying  to  the  edge  of  the 
veranda.  "  Ando  Uchida,  is  it  indeed  you  ? 

22 


How  stout  and  strong  and  prosperous  you 
seem  !     Welcome  ! " 

"A  little  too  stout  for  warm  weather," 
laughed  Ando,  as  laboriously  he  removed  his 
foreign  shoes  and  accepted  his  host's  assist 
ance  up  the  one  stone  step  to  the  veranda. 

"Welcome,  Ando  Uchida,"  said  Kano 
again,  when  they  had  taken  seats.  "It  is 
quite  five  years  since  my  eyes  last  hung  upon 
your  honorable  face." 

"  Is  it  indeed  so  long  ? "  said  the  other. 
"  Time  has  the  wings  of  a  dragon-fly  1 " 

Ando  had  brought  with  him  a  roll,  ap 
parently  of  papers,  tied  up  in  yellow  cloth. 
This  parcel  he  put  carefully  behind  him  on 
the  matted  floor.  He  then  drew  from  his 
kimono  sleeve  a  pink-bordered  foreign  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  began  to  mop  his  damp 
forehead.  Kano's  politeness  could  not  hide, 
entirely,  a  shudder  of  antipathy.  He  hurried 
into  new  speech.  "  And  where,  if  it  is  not 
rude  to  ask,  has  my  friend  Ando  sojourned 
during  the  long  absence  ? " 

23 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Chiefly  among  the  mountains  of  Kiu 
Shiu,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Kiu  Shiu,"  murmured  the  artist.  "  I 
wandered  there  in  youth  and  have  thought 
always  to  return.  The  rocks  and  cliffs  are  of 
great  beauty.  I  remember  well  one  white, 
thin  waterfall  that  flung  itself  out  like  a 
laugh,  but  never  reached  a  thing  so  dull  as 
earth.  Midway  it  was  splintered  upon  a  sun 
beam,  and  changed  into  rainbows,  pearls,  and 
swallows ! " 

"  I  know  it  excellently  well,"  said  Uchida. 
"  Indeed  I  have  been  zealous  to  preserve  it, 
chiefly  for  your  sake." 

"  Preserve  it  ?     What  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  have  become  a  government  inspector  of 
mines,"  explained  Uchida,  in  some  embar 
rassment.  "I  thought  you  knew.  There 
is  a  rich  coal  deposit  near  that  waterfall." 

"  Ando  !  Ando ! "  groaned  the  old  man, 
"  you  were  once  an  artist !  The  foreigners 
are  tainting  us  all." 

"  I  love  art  still,"  said  Ando,  "  but  I  make 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

a  better  engineer.  And  —  I  beseech  you  to 
overlook  my  vulgarity  —  I  am  getting  rich." 

Kano  groaned  again.  "  Oh,  this  foreign 
influence !  It  is  the  curse  of  modern  Japan! 
Love  of  money  is  starting  a  dry  rot  in 
the  land  of  the  gods.  Success,  material 
power,  money,  —  all  of  them  illusions, 
miasma  of  the  soul,  blinding  men  to  reality  1 
Surely  my  karma  was  evil  that  I  needed 
to  be  reborn  into  this  age  of  death  I " 

Ando  looked  sympathetic  and  a  little  con 
trite.  "  Since  we  are  indeed  hopelessly  of  the 
present,"  ventured  he,  "  may  it  not  be  as  well 
to  let  the  foreigners  teach  us  their  methods 
of  success  ?" 

"  Success  ? "  cried  Kano,  almost  angrily. 
"What  do  they  succeed  in  except  the  gross 
est  material  gains  ?  There  is  no  humanity  in 
them.  Love  of  beauty  dies  in  the  womb. 
Shall  we  strive  to  become  as  dead  things  ? " 

"The  love  of  beauty  will  never  perish  in 
this  land,"  said  Ando  more  earnestly  than  he 
had  yet  spoken.  "  A  Japanese  loves  Art  as 

25 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

he  loves  life.  Our  rich  merchants  become 
the  best  patrons  of  the  artists." 

"Patrons  of  the  artists,"  echoed  Kano, 
wearily.  "  You  voice  your  own  degradation, 
friend  Ando.  In  the  great  days,  who  dared 
to  speak  of  patronage  to  us.  Emperors  were 
artists  and  artists  Emperors !  It  was  to  us 
that  all  men  bowed." 

"Yes,  yes,  that  is  honorably  true,"  Ando 
hastened  to  admit.  "  And  so  would  they 
in  this  age  bow  to  you,  if  you  would  but 
allow  it." 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  homage,"  said 
Kano,  his  head  falling  forward  on  his  breast. 
"  None  knows  this  better  than  1,  —  and  yet  I 
am  the  greatest  among  them.  Show  me  one 
of  our  young  artists  who  can  stand  like  Fudo 
in  the  flame  of  his  own  creative  thought ! 
There  is  none  ! " 

"What  you  say  is  unfortunately  true 
of  the  present  Tokyo  painters,  —  perhaps 
equally  of  Kioto  and  other  large  cities, — 

but "  Here  Ando  paused  as  if  to  arouse 

26 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

expectancy.  Kano  did  not  look  up.  "  But," 
insisted  the  other,  "may  it  not  be  possible 
that  in  some  place  far  from  the  clamor  of 
modern  progress,  —  in  some  remote  mountain 
pass, — maybe " 

Kano  looked  up  now  sharply  enough. 
Apathy  and  indifference  flared  up  like  straws 
in  a  sudden  flame  of  passion.  He  made  a 
fierce  gesture.  "  Not  that,  not  that !  "  he 
cried.  "  I  cannot  bear  it !  Do  not  seek  to 
give  false  life  to  a  hope  already  dead.  I  am 
an  old  man.  I  have  hoped  and  prayed  too 
long.  I  must  go  down  to  my  grave  without 
an  heir,  —  even  an  adopted  heir,  —  for  there 
is  no  disciple  worthy  to  succeed  !  " 

"  Dear  friend,  believe  that  I  would  not  will 
ingly  add  to  a  grief  like  this.  I  assure 

you "  Ando  was  beginning,  when  his 

words  were  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of 
Ume-ko.  She  bore  a  tray  with  cups,  a  tiny 
steaming  tea-pot,  and  a  dish  heaped  with 
cakes  in  the  forms  and  tints  of  morning- 
glories.  This  offering  she  placed  near  Uchida ; 

27 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  then,  retiring  a  few  steps,  bowed  to  the 
floor,  drawing  her  breath  inaudibly  as  a  token 
of  welcome  and  respect.  Being  merely  a 
woman,  old  Kano  did  not  think  of  presenting 
her.  She  left  the  room  noiselessly  as  she  had 
come.  Ando  watched  every  movement  with 
admiration  and  a  certain  weighing  of  possi 
bilities  in  his  shrewd  face.  He  nodded  as  if 
to  himself,  and  leaned  toward  Kano. 

"  Was  that  not  Kano  Ume-ko,  your 
daughter  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  gruffly  ;  "  but  she 
is  not  a  son." 

"  Fortunately  for  the  eyes  of  men  she  is 
not,"  smiled  Ando.  "  That  is  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen,  and  I 
have  seen  many.  She  welcomed  me  at  the 
gate." 

Kano,  engaged  in  pouring  tea,  made  no 
reply. 

"  Also,  if  current  speech  be  true,  she  has 
great  talent,"  persisted  the  visitor.  "  One  can 
see  genius  burning  like  a  soft  light  behind  her 

28 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

face.     I  hear  everywhere  of  her  beauty  and 
her  fame." 

"  Oh,  she  does  well,  —  even  remarkably 
well  for  a  woman,"  admitted  Kano.  "  But,  as 
I  said  before,  she  is  a  woman,  and  nothing 
alters  that.  I  tell  you,  Ando  ! "  he  cried,  in  a 
small  new  gust  of  irritation,  "  sometimes  I 
have  wished  that  she  had  been  left  utterly  un 
touched  by  art.  She  paints  well  now,  be 
cause  my  influence  is  never  lifted.  She 
knows  nothing  else.  I  have  allowed  no  lover 
to  approach.  Yet,  some  day  love  will  find 
her,  as  one  finds  a  blossoming  plum  tree  in 
the  night.  In  every  rock  and  tree  she  paints 
I  can  see  the  hint  of  that  coming  lover ;  in 
her  flowers,  exquisitely  drawn,  nestle  the  faces 
of  her  children.  She  knows  it  not,  but  I 
know,  -  -  I  know  !  She  thinks  she  cares 
only  for  her  father  and  her  art.  When  I  die 
she  will  marry,  and  then  how  many  pictures 
will  she  paint  ?  Bah!" 

"  Poor  child  ! "  murmured  Ando,  under  his 
breath. 

29 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Poor  child,"  mocked  the  artist,  whose 
quick  ears  had  caught  the  whisper.  "  Poor 
Nippon,  rather,  and  poor  old  Kano,  who  has 
no  better  heir  than  this  frail  girl.  Oh,  Ando, 
I  have  clamored  to  the  gods  !  I  have  made 
pilgrimages  and  given  gifts,  —  but  there  is  no 
one  to  inherit  my  name  and  the  traditions  of 
my  race.  Nowhere  can  I  find  a  Dragon 
Painter ! " 

Ando  put  his  hand  out  quickly  behind  him, 
seized  the  long  roll  tied  in  yellow  cloth,  and 
began  to  unfasten  it. 

Kano  was  panting  with  the  vehemence  of 
his  own  speech.  He  poured  another  little 
cup  of  tea  and  drained  it.  He  began  now 
to  watch  Ando,  and  found  himself  annoyed 
by  the  deliberation  of  his  friend's  motions. 
"  Strange,  strange "  Ando  was  mur 
muring.  An  instant  later  came  the  whisper, 
"  very,  very  strange  1 " 

"  Why  do  you  repeat  it  ? "  cried  Kano,  irri 
tably.  "  There  was  nothing  strange  in  what 
I  said." 

30 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

The  parcel  was  now  untied.  Ando  held  a 
roll  of  papers  outward.  "  Examine  these, 
Kano  Indara,"  he  said  impressively.  "  If  I 
do  not  greatly  mistake,  the  gods,  at  last,  have 
heard  your  prayer." 

Kano  went  backward  as  if  from  fire.  "  No ! 
I  cannot,  —  I  must  not  hope !  Too  long 
have  I  searched.  Not  a  schoolboy  who 
thought  he  could  draw  an  outline  in  the  sand 
with  his  toe  but  I  have  fawned  on  him.  I 
dare  not  look.  Ando,  to-day  I  am  shaken  as 
if  with  an  ague  of  the  soul.  I  —  I  —  could 
not  bear  another  disappointment."  He  did 
indeed  seem  piteously  weak  and  old.  He  hid 
his  face  in  long,  lean,  twitching  fingers. 

Ando  was  sincerely  affected.  "  This  is  to 
be  no  disappointment,"  said  he,  gently.  "  I 
pray  you,  listen  patiently  to  my  clumsy 
speech." 

"  I  will  strive  to  listen  calmly,"  said  Kano, 
in  a  broken  voice.  "  But  first  honorably 
secrete  the  papers  once  again.  They  tanta 
lize  my  sight." 

31 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Uchida  put  them  down  on  the  floor  beside 
him  and  threw  the  cloth  carelessly  above. 
He  was  more  moved  than  he  cared  to  show. 
He  strove  now  to  speak  simply,  directly,  and 
with  convincing  earnestness.  Kano  had  set 
tled  into  his  old  attitude  of  dejection. 

"  One  morning,  not  more  than  six  weeks 
ago,"  began  Uchida,  "  the  engineering  party 
which  I  command  had  climbed  some  splin 
tered  peaks  of  the  Kiu  Shiu  range  to  a  spot 
quite  close,  indeed,  to  that  thin  waterfall 
which  you  remember " 

"  One  might  forget  his  friends  and  relatives, 
but  not  a  waterfall  like  that ! "  interrupted 
Kano. 

"  Suddenly  a  storm,  blown  down  appar 
ently  from  a  clear  sky,  caught  up  the  moun 
tain  and  our  little  group  of  men  in  a  great 
blackness." 

"  The  mountain  deities  were  angered  at 
your  presumption,"  nodded  Kano,  well  pleased. 

"  It  may  be,"  admitted  the  other.  "  At  any 
rate,  the  winds  now  hurried  in  from  the  sea. 

32 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Round  cloud  vapors  split  sidewise  on  the 
wedges  of  the  rocks.  Voices  screamed  in 
the  fissures.  We  clung  to  the  scrub-pines 
and  the  sa-sa  grass  for  safety." 

"  I  can  see  it  all.  I  can  feel  it,"  whispered 
old  Kano. 

"  We  wished  to  descend,  but  knew  no  way. 
I  shouted  for  aid.  The  others  shouted  many 
times.  Then  from  the  very  midst  of  tumult 
came  a  youth,  —  half  god,  half  beast,  with 
wild  eyes  peering  at  us,  and  hair  that  tossed 
like  the  angry  clouds." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  urged  Kano,  straining  for 
ward. 

"  We  scrambled  toward  him,  and  he  shrank 
back  into  the  mist.  We  called,  beseeching 
help.  The  workmen  thought  him  a  young 
sennin,  and  falling  on  their  knees,  began  to 
pray.  Then  the  youth  approached  us  more 
deliberately,  and,  when  we  asked  for  guid 
ance,  led  us  by  a  secluded  path  down  into 
a  mountain  village." 

"  And   you  think,  —  you   think  that   this 

3  33 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

marvellous  youth,"  began  Kano,  eagerly ;  then 
broke  off  with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  I  must 
not  believe,  I  must  not  believe,"  he  muttered. 
Ando's  hand  was  once  more  on  the  roll  of 
papers.  He  went  on  smoothly.  "  We  ques 
tioned  of  him  in  the  village.  He  is  a  found 
ling.  None  knows  his  parentage.  From 
childhood  he  has  made  pictures  upon  rocks, 
and  sand  beds,  and  the  inner  bark  of  trees. 
He  wanders  for  days  together  among  the 
peaks,  and  declares  that  he  is  searching  for 
his  mate,  a  Dragon  Princess,  withheld  from 
him  by  enchantment.  Naturally  the  village 
people  think  him  mad.  But  they  are  kind 
to  him.  They  give  him  food  and  clothing, 
and  sometimes  sheets  of  paper,  like  these 
here."  With  affected  unconcern  he  raised 
the  long  roll.  "  Yes,  they  give  him  paper, 
with  real  ink  and  brushes.  Then  he  leaps 
up  the  mountain  side  and  paints  and  paints 
for  hours,  like  a  demon.  But  as  soon  as  he 
has  eased  his  soul  of  a  sketch  he  lets  the 
first  gust  of  wind  blow  it  away." 

34 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Kano  was  now  shivering  in  his  place.  On 
his  wrinkled  face  a  light  dawned.  "  Shall  I 
believe  ?  Oh,  Ando,  indeed  I  could  not 
bear  it  now  !  Unroll  those  drawings  before  1 
go  mad  ! " 

Uchida  deliberately  spread  out  the  first. 
It  was  a  scene  of  mountain  storm,  painted 
as  in  an  elemental  fury.  Inky  pine  branches 
slashed  and  hurled  upward,  downward,  and 
across  a  tortured  gray  sky.  A  cloud-rack 
tore  the  void  like  a  Valkyrie's  cry  made  visi 
ble.  One  huge  talon  of  lightning  clutched  at 
the  flying  scud. 

Kano  gave  a  glance,  covered  his  face,  and 
began  to  sob.  Uchida  blew  his  nose  on  the 
pink-bordered  foreign  handkerchief.  After  a 
long  while  the  old  man  whispered,  "  What 
name  shall  I  use  in  my  prayer  ?  " 

"  He  is  called,"  said  Ando,  "  by  the  name 
of  « Tatsu.'  '  Tatsu,  the  Dragon  Painter.'  " 


35 


II 

THE   sounds   and   sights  of  the  great 
capital  were  dear  to  Ando  Uchida.    In 
five  years  of  busy  exile  among  remote 
mountains  he  felt  that  he  had  earned,  as  it 
were,  indulgence  for  an  interval  of  leisurely 
enjoyment. 

His  initial  visit  to  old  Kano  had  been  made 
not  so  much  to  renew  an  illustrious  acquaint 
ance,  as  to  relieve  his  own  mind  of  its  excit 
ing  news,  and  his  hands  of  a  parcel  which,  at 
every  stage  of  the  journey,  had  been  an  incu 
bus.  Ando  knew  the  paintings  to  be  un 
usual.  He  had  hoped  for  and  received  from 
Kano  the  highest  confirmation  of  this  belief. 

At  that  time,  now  a  week  ago,  he  had  been 
pleased,  and  Kano  irradiated.  Already  he 
was  cursing  himself  for  his  pains,  and  crying 
aloud  that,  had  he  dreamed  the  consequences, 

36 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

never  had  the  name  of  Tatsu  crossed  his  lips  ! 
Ando's  anticipated  joys  in  Yeddo  lay,  as  yet, 
before  him.  Hourly  was  he  tormented  by 
visits  from  the  impatient  Kano.  Neither  mid 
night  nor  dawn  were  safe  from  intrusion. 
Always  the  same  questions  were  asked,  the 
same  fears  spoken,  the  same  glorious  future 
prophesied  ;  until  finally,  in  despair,  one  night 
Ando  arose  between  the  hours  of  two  and 
three,  betaking  himself  to  a  small  suburban 
hotel.  Here  he  lived,  for  a  time,  in  peace, 
under  the  protection  of  an  assumed  name. 

A  letter  had  been  dispatched  that  first  day, 
to  Tatsu  of  Kiu  Shiu,  with  a  sum  of  money 
for  the  defraying  of  travelling  expenses,  and 
the  petition  that  the  youth  should  come  as 
quickly  as  possible  for  a  visit  to  Kano  Indara, 
since  the  old  man  could  not,  of  himself,  attempt 
so  long  a  journey.  After  what  seemed  to  the 
impatient  writer  (and  in  equal  degree  to  the 
harassed  Uchida)  an  endless  cycle  of  existence, 
an  answer  came,  not,  indeed  from  Tatsu, 
but  from  the  "  Mura  osa,"  or  head  of  the  vil- 

37 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

lage,  saying  that  the  Mad  Painter  had  started 
at  once  upon  his  journey,  taking  not  even  a 
change  of  clothes.  By  what  route  he  would 
travel  or  on  what  date  arrive,  only  the  gods 
could  tell. 

Kano's  rapture  in  these  tidings  was  assailed, 
at  once,  by  a  swarm  of  black  conjectures. 
Might  the  boy  not  lose  himself  by  the  way  ? 
If  he  attempted  to  ride  upon  the  hideous  for 
eign  trains  he  was  certain  to  be  injured  ;  if  on 
the  other  hand,  he  did  not  come  by  train, 
weeks,  even  months,  might  be  consumed  in 
the  journey.  Again,  should  he  essay  to  come 
by  boat !  Then  there  were  dangers  of  wind 
and  storm.  Visions  of  Tatsu  drowned  ;  of 
Tatsu  heaped  under  a  wreck  of  burning  cars  ; 
starved  to  death  in  a  solitary  forest ;  set  upon, 
robbed,  and  slain  by  footpads,  all  spun  - 
black  silhouettes  in  a  revolving  lantern  - 
through  Kano's  frenzied  imagination.  It  was 
at  this  point  that  Uchida  had  hid  himself,  and 
assumed  a  false  name. 

In  another  week  the  gentle  Ume  began  to 
38 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

grow  pale  and  silent  under  the  small  tyran 
nies  of  her  father.  Mata  openly  declared  her 
belief  that  it  was  a  demon  now  on  the  way  to 
them,  since  he  had  power  to  change  the  place 
into  a  cave  of  torment  even  before  arrival. 
After  Uchida's  defection  old  Kano  remained 
constantly  at  home.  Many  hours  at  a  time 
he  stood  upon  the  moon-viewing  hillock  of 
his  garden,  staring  up,  then  down  the  street, 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  until  it  was 
weariness  to  watch  him.  Within  the  rooms 
he  was  merely  one  curved  ear,  bent  in  the 
direction  of  the  entrance  gate.  His  nervous 
ness  communicated  itself  to  the  women  of  the 
house.  They,  too,  were  listening.  More  than 
one  innocent  visitor  had  been  thrown  into 
panic  by  the  sight  of  three  strained  faces  at 
the  gate,  and  three  pairs  of  shining  eyes  set 
instantly  upon  them. 

One  twilight  hour,  late  in  August,  Tatsu 
came.  After  an  eager  day  of  watching,  old 
Kano  had  just  begun  to  tell  himself  that  hope 
was  over.  Tatsu  had  certainly  been  killed. 

39 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

The  ihai  might  as  well  be  set  up,  and  prayers 
offered  for  the  dead  man's  soul.  Ume-ko, 
wearied  by  the  heat,  and  the  incessant  strain, 
lay  prone  upon  her  matted  floor,  listening 
to  the  chirp  of  a  bell  cricket  that  hung  in  a 
tiny  bamboo  cage  near  by.  The  clear  notes 
of  the  refrain,  struck  regularly  with  the 
sound  of  a  fairy  bell,  had  begun  to  help  and 
soothe  her.  Mata  sat  dozing  on  the  kitchen 
step. 

A  loud,  sudden  knock  shattered  in  an  in 
stant  this  precarious  calm.  Kano  went 
through  the  house  like  a  storm.  Mata,  being 
nearest,  flung  the  panel  of  the  gate  aside. 
There  stood  a  creature  with  tattered  blue 
robe  just  to  the  knees,  bare  feet,  bare  head, 
with  wild,  tossing  locks  of  hair,  and  eyes  that 
gleamed  with  a  panther's  light. 

"  Is  it —  is  it  —  Tatsu  ?  "  screamed  the  old 
man,  hurling  his  voice  before  him. 

"  It  is  a  madman,"  declared  the  servant, 
and  flattened  herself  against  the  hedge. 

Ume  said  nothing  at  all.     After  one  look 
40 


into  the  stranger's  face  she  had  withdrawn, 
herself  unseen,  into  the  shadowy  rooms. 

"  I  am  Tatsu  of  Kiu  Shiu,"  announced 
the  apparition,  in  a  voice  of  strange  depth 
and  sweetness.  "Is  this  the  home  of  Kano 
Indara?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  Kano  Indara,"  said  the 
artist,  almost  grovelling  on  the  stones.  "  En 
ter,  dear  sir,  I  beseech.  You  must  be  weary. 
Accompany  me  in  this  direction,  august 
youth.  Mata,  bring  tea  to  the  guest-room." 

Tatsu  followed  his  tempestuous  host  in 
silence.  As  they  gained  the  room  Kano 
motioned  him  to  a  cushion,  and  prepared  to 
take  a  seat  opposite.  Tatsu  suddenly  sank 
to  his  knees,  bowing  again  and  again,  stiffly, 
in  a  manner  long  forgotten  in  fashionable 
Yeddo. 

"  Discard  the  ceremony  of  bowing,  I  en 
treat,"  said  Kano. 

"  Why  ?     Is  it  not  a  custom  here  ? " 

"  Yes,  —  to  a  lesser  extent.  But  between 
us,  dear  youth,  it  is  unnecessary." 

41 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Why  should  it  be  unnecessary  between 
us  ? "  persisted  the  unsmiling  guest. 

"  Because  we  are  artists,  therefore  brothers," 
explained  Kano,  in  an  encouraging  voice. 

Tatsu  frowned.  "  Who  are  you,  and  why 
have  you  sent  for  me  ? " 

"  Do  you  inquire  who  I  am  ? "  said  Kano, 
scarcely  believing  his  ears. 

"  It  is  what  I  asked." 

"  I  am  Kanolndara."  The  old  man  folded 
his  arms  proudly,  waiting  for  the  effect. 

Tatsu  moved  impatiently  upon  his  velvet 
cushion.  "  Of  course  I  knew  that.  It  was 
the  name  on  the  scrap  of  paper  that  guided 
me  here." 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  yet  know 
the  meaning  of  the  name  of  Kano  ? "  asked 
the  artist,  incredulously.  A  thin  red  tin 
gled  to  his  cheek,  —  the  hurt  of  childish 
vanity. 

"  There  is  one  of  that  name  in  my  village," 
said  Tatsu.  "  He  is  a  scavenger,  and  often 
gives  me  fine  large  sheets  of  paper." 

42 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Old  Kano's  lip  trembled.  "  I  am  not  of 
his  sort.  Men  call  me  an  artist." 

"  Oh,  an  artist !  Does  that  mean  a  painter 
of  dragons,  like  me  ? " 

"  Among  other  things  of  earth  and  air  I 
have  attempted  to  paint  dragons,"  said  Kano. 

"  I  paint  nothing  else,"  declared  Tatsu,  and 
seemed  to  lose  interest  in  the  conversation. 

Kano  looked  hard  into  his  face.  "  You  say 
that  you  paint  nothing  else  ?  "  he  challenged. 
"  Are  not  these  —  all  of  them  —  your  work, 
the  creations  of  your  fancy  ?  "  He  reached 
out  for  the  roll  that  Uchida  had  brought. 
His  hands  trembled.  In  his  nervous  excite 
ment  the  papers  fell,  scattering  broadcast 
over  the  floor. 

Tatsu's  dark  face  flashed  into  light.  "My 
pictures !  My  pictures ! "  he  cried  aloud, 
like  a  child.  "  They  always  blow  off  down 
the  mountain ! " 

Kano  picked  up  a  study  at  random.  It 
was  of  a  mountain  tarn  lying  quiet  in  the 
sun.  Trees  in  a  windless  silence  sprang 

43 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

straight  upward  from  the  brink.  Beyond 
and  above  these  a  few  tall  peaks  stood  thin 
and  pale,  cutting  a  sky  that  was  empty  of 
all  but  light. 

"  Where  is  the  dragon  here  ? "  challenged 
the  old  man. 

"  Asleep  under  the  lake." 

"  And  where  here  ? "  he  asked  quickly,  in 
order  to  hide  his  discomfiture.  The  second 
picture  was  a  scene  of  heavy  rain  descending 
upon  a  village.  "  Oh,  I  perceive  for  myself," 
he  hurried  on  before  Tatsu  could  reply. 
"  The  dragon  lies  full  length,  half  sleep 
ing,  on  the  soaking  cloud." 

Tatsu's  lip  curled,  but  he  remained  silent. 

The  old  man's  hands  rattled  among  the 
edges  of  the  papers.  "  Ah,  here,  Master 
Painter,  are  you  overthrown  ! "  he  cried  tri 
umphantly,  lifting  the  painting  of  a  tall  girl 
who  swayed  against  a  cloudy  background. 
The  lines  of  the  thin  gray  robe  blew  lightly 
to  one  side.  The  whole  figure  had  the  poise 
and  lightness  of  a  vision ;  yet  in  the  face  an 

44. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

exquisite     human     tenderness     smiled    out. 
"  Show  me  a  dragon  here,"  repeated  Kano. 

Tatsu  looked  troubled  and,  for  the  first  time, 
studied  intently  the  countenance  of  his  host. 
"  Surely,  honored  sir,  if  you  are  a  painter, 
as  you  say  you  are,  its  meaning  must  be 
plain.  Look  more  closely.  Do  you  not  see 
on  what  the  maiden  stands  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  see,"  snapped  Kano.  "  She 
stands  among  rocks  and  weeds,  and  looks  mar 
vellously  like "  He  broke  off,  thinking 

it  better  not  to  mention  his  daughter's  name. 
"  But  I  repeat,  no  dragon-thought  is  here." 

Tatsu  reached  out,  took  the  picture,  and 
tore  it  into  shreds.  Then  he  rose  to  his  feet. 
"  Good-by,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  now  make 
a  quick  returning.  You  are  of  the  blind 
among  men.  My  painting  was  the  Dragon 
Maid,  standing  on  the  peaks  of  earth.  All 
my  life  I  have  sought  her.  The  people  of 
my  village  think  me  mad  because  of  her. 
By  reason  that  I  cannot  find,  I  paint. 
Good-by ! " 

45 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"Good-by!"  echoed  the  other.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?  What  are  you  saying  ? " 
The  face  of  a  horrible  possibility  jeered  at 
him.  His  heart  pounded  the  lean  ribs  and 
stood  still.  Tatsu  was  upon  his  feet.  In  an 
instant  more  he  would  be  gone  forever. 

"  Tatsu,  wait ! "  almost  screamed  the  old 
man.  "  Surely  you  cannot  mean  to  re 
turn  when  you  have  but  now  arrived  !  Be 
seated.  1  insist !  There  is  much  to  talk 
about." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  talk  about.  When  a 
thing  is  to  be  done,  then  it  is  best  to  do  it 
quickly.  Good-by !  "  He  wheeled  toward 
the  deepening  night,  the  torn  and  soiled 
blue  robe  clinging  to  him  as  to  the  figure  of 
a  primeval  god. 

"  Tatsu  !  Tatsu  ! "  cried  the  other  in  an 
agony  of  fear.  "  Stop  1  I  command  1 " 

Tatsu  turned,  scowling.     Then  he  laughed. 

"  No,  no,  I  did  not  mean  the  word  '  com 
mand.'  I  entreat  you,  Tatsu,  because  you 
are  young  and  I  am  old ;  because  I  need 

46 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

you.  Dear  youth,  you  must  be  hungered 
and  very  weary.  Remain  at  least  until  our 
meal  is  served." 

"  I  desire  no  food  of  yours,"  said  Tatsu. 
"  Why  did  you  summon  me  when  you  had 
nothing  to  reveal  ?  You  are  no  artist ! 
And  1  pine,  already,  for  the  mountains  ! " 

"  Then,  Tatsu,  if  I  am  no  artist,  stay  and 
teach  me  how  to  paint.  Yes,  yes,  you  shall 
honorably  teach  me.  I  shall  receive  reproof 
thankfully.  I  need  you,  Tatsu.  I  have  no 
son.  Stay  and  be  my  son." 

The  short,  scornful  laugh  came  again. 
"  Your  son  !  What  could  you  do  with  a  son 
like  me  ?  You  love  to  dwell  in  square  cages, 
and  wear  smooth  shiny  clothes.  You  eat 
tasteless  foods  and  sleep  like  a  cocoon  that  is 
rolled.  My  life  is  upon  the  mountains ; 
my  food  the  wild  grapes  and  the  berries  that 
grow  upon  them.  The  pheasants  and  the 
mountain  lions  are  my  friends.  I  stifle  in 
these  lowlands.  I  cannot  stay.  I  must 
breathe  the  mountains,  and  there  among 

47 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

the  peaks  some  day  —  some  day  —  I  shall 
touch  her  sleeve,  the  sleeve  of  the  Dragon 
Maiden  whom  I  seek.  Let  me  go,  old  man ! 
I  have  no  business  in  this  place  !  " 

In  extremes  of  desperation  one  clutches  at 
the  semblance  of  a  straw.  A  last,  wild  hope 
had  flashed  to  Kano's  mind.  "  Come  nearer, 
Tatsu  San,"  he  whispered,  forcing  his  face  in 
to  the  distortion  of  a  smile.  "  Lean  nearer. 
The  real  motive  of  my  summons  has  not 
been  spoken." 

Compelled  by  the  strange  look  and  man 
ner  of  his  host,  Tatsu  retraced  a  few  steps. 
The  old  voice  wheedled  through  the  dusk. 
"  In  this  very  house,  under  my  mortal  con 
trol,  the  Dragon  Maiden  whom  you  seek 
is  hidden." 

Tatsu  staggered  back,  then  threw  himself 
to  the  floor,  searching  the  speaker's  face  for 
truth.  "  Could  you  lie  to  me  of  such  a  thing 
as  this  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No,  Tatsu,  by  the  spirits  of  my  ancestors, 
I  have  such  a  maiden  here.  Soon  I  shall 

48 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

show  you.  Only  you  must  be  patient  and 
very  quiet,  that  she  may  manifest  herself." 

"  I  shall  be  quiet,  Kano  Indara." 

Kano,  shivering  now  with  excitement  and 
relief,  clapped  hands  loudly  and  called  on 
Mata's  name.  The  old  dame  entered,  skirt 
ing  warily  the  vicinity  of  the  "  madman." 

"  Mata,  fix  your  eyes  on  me  only  while 
I  am  speaking,"  began  her  master.  "  Say  to 
the  Dragon  Maid  whom  we  keep  in  the 
chamber  by  the  great  plum  tree  that  I,  Kano 
Indara,  command  her  to  appear.  The  cos 
tume  must  be  worn  ;  and  let  her  enter,  sing 
ing.  These  are  my  instructions.  Assist  the 
maiden  to  obey  them.  Go  !  " 

His  piercing  look  froze  the  questions  on  her 
tongue.  "  And  Mata,"  he  called  again,  stop 
ping  her  at  the  threshold,  "  bring  at  once 
some  heated  sake,  —  the  best,  —  and  follow  it 
closely  with  the  evening  meal." 

"  Kashikomarimashita,"  murmured  the  ser 
vant,  dutifully.  But  within  the  safety  of  her 
kitchen  she  exploded  into  execrations,  mut- 

*  49 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

taring  prophecies  of  evil,  with  lamentations 
that  a  Mad  Thing  from  the  mountains  had 
broken  into  the  serenity  of  their  lives. 

Tatsu,  who  had  listened  eagerly  to  the 
commands,  now  flung  back  his  head  and 
drew  a, long  breath.  "  My  life  being  spent 
among  wild  creatures,"  he  murmured  as  if  to 
himself,  "  little  skill  have  I  in  judging  the 
ways  of  men.  How  shall  I  believe  that  in 
this  desert  of  houses  a  true  Dragon  Maiden 
can  be  found  ? "  Again  he  turned  flashing 
eyes  upon  his  host.  "  I  mistrust  you, 
Kano  Indara !  Your  thin  face  peers  like 
a  fox  from  its  hole.  If  you  deceive  me, 
—  yet  must  I  remain,  —  for  should  she 
come " 

"  You  shall  soon  perceive  for  yourself,  dear 
Dragon  Youth." 

Mata  entered  with  hot  sake.  "  Go  1  We 
shall  serve  ourselves,"  said  Kano,  much  to 
her  relief. 

"  I  seldom  drink,"  observed  Tatsu,  as  the 
old  man  filled  his  cup.  "  Once  it  made  of 

50 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

me  a  fool.     But  I  will  take  a  little  now,  for  I 
am  very  weary  with  the  long  day." 

"  Indeed,  it  must  be  so ;  but  good  wine 
refreshes  the  body  and  the  mind  alike," 
replied  the  other.  It  was  hard  to  pour  the 
sake  with  such  shaking  hands,  harder  still  to 
keep  his  eyes  from  the  beautiful  sullen  face 
so  near  him,  and  yet  he  forced  the  wrinkled 
eyelids  to  conceal  his  dawning  joy.  In 
Tatsu's  strange  submission,  the  artist  felt 
that  the  new  glory  of  the  Kano  name  was 
being  born. 


51 


Ill 

FOR  a  long  interval  the  two  men  sat 
in    silence.      Kano    leaned    forward 
from  time  to  time,  filling  the  small 
cup  which  Tatsu  —  half  in  revery  it  seemed 
-had  once  more  drained.     The  old  servant 
now  and  again  crept  in  on  soundless  feet  to 
replace  with  a  freshly  heated  bottle  of  sak& 
the  one  grown  cold.     So  still  was  the  place 
that    the    caged    cricket    hanging   from   the 
eaves  of  Ume's  distant  room  beat  time  like 
an  elfin  metronome. 

Two  of  the  four  walls  of  the  guest-room 
were  of  shoji,  a  lattice  covered  with  translu 
cent  rice-paper.  These  opened  directly  upon 
the  garden.  The  third  wall,  a  solid  one  of 
smoke-blue  plaster,  held  the  niche  called  "tok- 
onoma,"  where  pictures  are  hung  and  flower 
vases  set.  The  remaining  wall,  opening 

52 


toward  the  suite  of  chambers,  was  fashioned 
of  four  great  sliding  doors  called  fusuma, 
dull  silver  of  background,  with  paintings  of 
shadowy  mountain  landscape  done  centuries 
before  by  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  Kanos. 
It  was  in  front  of  these  doors  that  Mata 
now  placed  two  lighted  candles  in  tall 
bronze  holders. 

Outside,  the  garden  became  a  blur  of  soft 
darkness.  Within,  the  flickering  yellow  light 
of  the  candles  danced  through  the  room, 
touching  now  the  old  face,  now  the  young, 
each  set  hard  in  its  own  lines  of  concentrated 
thought.  Weird  shadows  played  about  the 
mountains  on  the  silver  doors,  and  hid  in  far 
corners  of  the  matted  floor. 

All  at  once  the  two  central  fusuma  were 
apart.  No  slightest  sound  had  been  made, 
yet  there,  in  the  narrow  rectangle,  stood 
a  figure,  —  surely  not  of  earth,  —  a  slim 
form  in  misty  gray  robes,  wearing  a  crown 
of  intertwisted  dragons,  with  long  filigree 
chains  that  fell  straight  to  the  shoulders. 

53 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

In    one  hand  was  held   an  opened   fan  of 
silver. 

Tatsu  gave  a  convulsive  start,  then  checked 
himself.  He  could  not  believe  the  vision 
real.  Not  even  in  his  despairing  dreams 
had  the  Dragon  Maid  appeared  so  ex 
quisite.  As  he  gazed,  one  white-clad  foot 
slid  a  few  inches  toward  him  on  the  shining 
floor.  Another  step,  and  she  was  in  the  room. 
The  fusuma  behind  her  closed  as  noiselessly 
as  they  had  opened.  Tatsu  shivered  a 
little,  and  stared  on.  With  equal  intensity 
the  old  man  watched  the  face  of  Tatsu. 

The  figure  had  begun  to  sway,  slightly,  at 
full  length,  like  long  bands  of  perpendicular 
rain  across  the  face  of  a  mountain.  A  sing 
ing  voice  began,  rich,  passionate,  and  low, 
matching  with  varying  intonation  the  marvel 
lous  postures  of  fan  and  throat  and  body.  At 
first  low  in  sound,  almost  husky,  it  flowered 
to  a  note  long  held  and  gradually  deepening 
in  power.  It  gathered  up  shadows  from  the 
heart  and  turned  them  into  light. 

54 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Ume-ko  danced  (or  so  she  would  have 
told  you)  only  to  fulfil  her  father's  com 
mand  ;  yet,  before  she  had  reached  the  room, 
she  knew  that  it  would  be  such  a  dance  as 
neither  she  nor  the  old  artist  had  dreamed  of. 
That  first  glimpse  of  Tatsu's  face  at  the  gate 
had  registered  for  her  a  notch  upon  the  Re 
volving  Wheel  of  Life.  His  first  spoken  word 
had  aroused  in  her  strange  mystic  memories 
from  stranger  hiding  places.  Karma  entered 
with  her  into  the  little  guest-room  where 
she  was  to  dance  and  charged  the  very  air 
with  revelation.  The  words  of  the  old 
classic  poem  she  had  in  her  ignorance  be 
lieved  familiar,  she  knew  that  she  was  now 
for  the  first  time  really  to  sing. 

"  Not  for  one  life  but  for  the  blossoming 
of  a  thousand  lives,  shall  I  seek  my  lover, 
shall  I  regain  his  love,"  she  sang.  No  longer 
was  it  Ume-ko  at  all,  but  in  actual  truth  the 
Dragon  Maid,  held  from  her  lover  by  a  jeal 
ous  god,  seeking  him  through  fire  and  storm 
and  sea,  peering  for  him  into  the  courts  of 

55 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

emperors,  the  shrines  of  the  astonished  gods, 
the  very  portals  of  the  under- world. 

And  Tatsu  listened  without  sound  or 
motion ;  only  his  eyes  burned  like  beacons 
in  a  windless  night.  Kano  wriggled  himself 
backward  on  the  matting  that  the  triumph 
of  his  face  might  not  be  seen.  Now  and 
again  he  leaned  forward  stealthily  and  filled 
Tatsu's  cup. 

The  unaccustomed  fluid  was  already  pour 
ing  in  a  fiery  torrent  through  the  boy's 
vivid  brain.  His  hands,  slipped  within  the 
tattered  blue  sleeves,  grasped  tightly  each 
the  elbow  of  the  other  arm.  His  ecstacy 
was  a  drug,  enveloping  his  senses ;  again  it 
was  a  fire  that  threatened  the  very  altar  of 
his  soul.  Through  it  all  he,  as  Ume-ko, 
realized  fulfilment.  Here  in  this  desert  of 
men's  huts  he  had  gained  what  all  the  tower 
ing  mountains  had  not  been  able  to  bestow. 
Here  wras  his  bride,  made  manifest,  his  mate, 
the  Dragon  Maid,  found  at  last  through  cen 
turies  of  barren  searching!  Surely,  if  he 

56 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

should  spring  now  to  his  feet,  catch  her  to 
him  and  call  upon  his  mountain  gods  for 
aid,  they  would  be  hurled  together  to  some 
paradise  of  love  where  only  he  and  she  and 
love  would  be  alive !  He  trembled  and 
caught  in  his  breath  with  a  sob.  Kano 
glided  a  few  feet  nearer,  and  struck  the 
matting  sharply  with  his  hand. 

Suddenly  the  dance  was  over.  Ume-ko, 
quivering  now  in  every  limb,  sank  to  the 
floor.  She  bowed  first  to  the  guest  of 
honor,  then  to  her  father.  Touching  her 
wet  eyes  with  a  silken  sleeve  she  moved 
backward  to  the  rear  of  the  room  where  she 
seated  herself  upright,  motionless  as  the 
wall  itself,  between  the  two  tall  candles. 
Tatsu's  eyes  never  left  her  face.  Old  Kano, 
in  the  background,  rocked  to  and  fro,  and, 
after  a  short  pause  of  waiting,  clapped  his 
hands  for  Mata. 

"  Hai-ie-ie-ie-ie  I "  came  the  thin  voice,  long 
drawn  out,  from  the  kitchen.  She  entered 
with  a  tray  of  steaming  food,  placing  it  be- 

57 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

fore  Tatsu.  A  second  tray  was  brought 
for  the  master,  and  a  fresh  bottle  of  wine. 
Ume-ko  sat  motionless  against  the  silver 
fusuma,  an  ivory  image,  crowned  and  robed 
in  shimmering  gray. 

The  odor  of  good  food  attracted  Tatsu 's 
senses  if  not  his  eyes.  He  ate  greedily, 
hastily,  not  seeing  what  he  ate.  His  man 
ners  were  those  of  an  untutored  mountain 
peasant. 

"  Dragon  Maid,"  purred  Kano,  "  weari 
ness  has  come  upon  you.  Retire,  I  pray, 
and  deign  to  rest." 

"  No  ! "  said  Tatsu,  loudly.  "  She  shall  not 
leave  this  room." 

"  My  concern  is  for  the  august  maiden 
who  has  found  favor  in  your  sight,"  replied 
Kano,  with  a  deprecating  gesture.  "  Here, 
Tatsu,  let  me  fill  your  cup." 

Tatsu  threw  his  cup  face  down  to  the  floor, 
and  put  his  lean,  brown  hand  upon  it.  "  I 
drink  no  more  until  my  cup  of  troth  with  the 
maiden  yonder." 

58 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Ume-ko's  startled  eyes  flew  to  his.  She 
trembled,  and  the  blood  slowly  ebbed  from 
her  face,  leaving  it  pale  and  luminous  with  a 
sort  of  wonder. 

"  Go ! "  said  Kano  again,  and,  in  a  daze, 
the  girl  rose  and  vanished  from  the  room. 

Tatsu  had  hurled  himself  toward  her,  but 
it  was  too  late.  He  turned  angrily  to  his 
host.  "  She  is  mine  !  Why  did  you  send 
her  away  ?  " 

"  Gently,  gently,"  cooed  the  other.  "  In 
this  incarnation  she  is  called  my  daughter." 

"  I  believe  it  not  1 "  cried  Tatsu.  "  How 
came  she  under  bondage  to  you  ?  Have  I 
not  sought  her  through  a  thousand  lives  ? 
She  is  mine  !  " 

"  Even  so,  in  this  life  I  am  her  father,  and 
it  is  my  command  that  she  will  obey." 

Tatsu  rocked  and  writhed  in  his  place. 

"  She  is  a  good  daughter,"  pursued  the 
other,  amiably.  "  She  has  never  yet  failed  in 
docility  and  respect.  Without  my  consent  you 
shall  not  touch  her,  --  not  even  her  sleeve." 

59 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  I  have  sought  her  through  a  thousand 
lives.  I  will  slay  him  who  tries  to  keep  her 
from  me  !  "  raved  the  boy. 

"  To  kill  her  father  would  scarcely  be  a 
fortunate  beginning,"  said  Kano,  tranquilly. 
"  Your  hope  lies  in  safer  paths,  dear  youth. 
There  are  certain  social  conventions  attached 
even  to  a  Dragon  Maid.  Now  if  you  will 
calm  yourself  and  listen  to  reason " 

Tatsu  sprang  to  his  feet  and  struck  himself 
violently  upon  the  brow.  The  hot  wine  was 
making  a  whirlpool  of  his  brain.  "  Reason  ! 
convention  !  safety !  I  hate  them  all !  Oh, 
you  little  men  of  cities !  Farmyard  fowls 
and  swine,  running  always  to  one  sty,  follow 
ing  always  one  lead,  —  doing  things  in  the 
one  way  that  other  base  creatures  have  marked 
out- 

Kano  laughed  aloud.  His  whole  life  had 
been  a  protest  against  conventionality,  and 
this  impassioned  denunciation  came  from  a 
new  world.  The  sound  maddened  Tatsu. 
He  leaped  to  the  veranda,  now  a  mere  ledge 

60 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

thrust  out  over  darkness,  threw  an  arm  about 
the  slender  corner-post,  and  strained  far  out, 
gasping,  into  the  night.  Kano  filled  his  pipe 
with  leisurely  deliberation.  The  time  was 
past  for  fear. 

In  a  few  moments  the  boy  returned, 
his  face  ugly,  black,  and  sullen.  "  I  will  be 
your  son  if  you  give  me  the  maiden,"  he 
muttered. 

"  Come  now,  this  is  much  better,"  said 
Kano,  with  a  genial  smile.  "  We  shall  dis 
cuss  the  matter  like  rational  men." 

Tatsu  ground  his  teeth  so  that  the  other 
heard  him. 

"  Have  a  pipe,"  said  Kano. 

"  I  want  no  pipe." 

"  At  least  make  yourself  at  ease  upon  the 
cushion  while  I  speak." 

"  I  am  more  at  ease  without  it,"  said  the 
boy,  flinging  the  velvet  square  angrily  across 
the  room.  "  Ugh !  It  is  like  sitting  on  a  dead 
cat.  Kindly  speak  without  further  care  for 
me.  I  am  at  ease  1 " 

61 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Kano  glanced  at  the  burning  eyes,  the 
quivering  face  and  twitching  muscles  with  a 
smile.  The  intensity  of  ardor  touched  him. 
He  drew  a  short  sigh,  the  look  of  compla 
cency  left  his  for  an  instant,  arid  he  began, 
deliberately,  "  As  you  may  have  gathered 
from  my  letter,  I  am  without  a  son." 

Tatsu  nodded  shortly. 

"  Worse  than  this,  among  all  my  disciples 
here  in  Yeddo  there  has  appeared  none 
worthy  to  inherit  the  name  and  traditions  of 
my  race.  Now,  dear  youth,  when  I  first  saw 
these  paintings  of  yours,  the  hope  stirred  in 
me  that  you  might  be  that  one." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  paint  things 
as  paltry  as  your  own  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly,  though  even  from  my 
poor  work  you  might  gain  some  valuable  les 
sons  of  technique." 

"  I  know  not  that  word,"  said  Tatsu. 
"  When  I  must  paint,  I  paint.  What  has 
all  this  to  do  with  the  Dragon  Maiden  ?" 

"  Softly,   softly ;   we   are   coming   to   that 
62 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

now,"  said  Kano.  "  If,  after  trial,  I  should 
find  you  really  worthy  of  adoption,  nothing 
could  be  more  appropriate  than  for  you  to 
become  the  husband  of  my  daughter." 

Tatsu  dug  his  nails  into  the  matting  of  the 
floor.  "  Suitable  —  appropriate  —  husband  ! " 
he  groaned  aloud.  "  Farmyard  cackle,  — 
all  of  it.  Oh,  to  be  joined  in  the  manner  of 
such  earthlings  to  a  Dragon  Maid  like  this ! 
Old  man,  cannot  even  you  feel  the  horror  of 
it  ?  No,  your  eyes  blink  like  a  pig  that  has 
eaten.  You  cannot  see.  She  should  be 
made  mine  among  storm  and  wind  and  mist 
on  some  high  mountain  peak,  where  the  gods 
would  lean  to  us,  and  great  straining  forests 
roar  out  our  marriage  hymn  ! " 

"  There  is  indeed  something  about  it  that 
appeals  to  me.  It  would  make  a  fine  subject 
for  a  painting." 

"  Oh,  oh,"  gasped  Tatsu,  and  clutched 
at  his  throat.  "  When  will  you  give  her  to 
me,  Kano  Indara  ?  Shall  it  be  to-night  ? " 

"  To-night  ?     Are  you  raving  ! "  cried  the 
63 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

astonished  Kano.     "  It  would  be  at  the  very 
least  a  month." 

Tatsu  rose  and  staggered  to  the  veranda. 
"  A  month ! "  he  whispered  to  the  stars. 
"  Shall  I  live  at  all  ?  Good-night,  old  man 
of  clay,"  he  called  suddenly,  and  with  a  light 
step  was  down  upon  the  garden  path. 

Kano  hurried  to  him.  "  Stop,  stop,  young 
sir,"  he  called  half  choked,  now,  with  laughter. 
"  Do  not  go  in  this  rude  way.  You  are  my 
guest.  The  women  are  even  now  preparing 
your  bed." 

"  I  lie  not  on  beds,"  jeered  Tatsu  through 
the  darkness.  "  Vile  things  they  are,  like 
the  ooze  that  smears  the  bottom  of  a  lake.  I 
climb  this  hillside  for  my  couch.  To-mor 
row,  with  the  sun,  I  shall  return  ! " 

The  voice,  trailing  away  through  silence 
and  the  night,  had  a  tone  of  supernatural 
sweetness.  When  it  had  quite  faded  Kano 
stared  on,  for  a  long  time,  into  the  fragrant 
solitude.  Stars  were  out  now  by  thousands, 
a  gold  mosaic  set  into  a  high  purple  dome. 

64 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Off  to  the  south  a  wide  blur  of  artificial  light 
hung  above  the  city,  the  visible  expression,  as 
it  were,  of  the  low,  human  roar  of  life,  audi 
ble  even  in  this  sheltered  nook.  To  the  north, 
almost  it  seemed  within  touch  of  his  hands, 
the  temple  cliff  rose  black,  formidable,  and 
impressive,  a  gigantic  wall  of  silence.  The 
camphor  tree  overhead  was  thrown  out  darkly 
against  the  stars,  like  its  own  shadow.  The 
velvety  boom  of  the  temple  bell,  striking  nine, 
held  in  its  echoes  the  color  and  the  softness 
of  the  hour. 

Kano,  turning  at  last  from  the  veranda, 
slowly  re-entered  the  guest-room,  and  seated 
himself  upon  one  of  the  cushions  that  had 
aroused  Tatsu's  scorn.  A  dead  cat,  —  for 
sooth  !  Well  to  old  bones  a  dead  cat  might 
be  better  than  no  cushion  !  Mata  had  come 
in  very  softly.  "  I  prayed  the  gods  for  him," 
Kano  was  muttering  aloud,  "and  I  thank 
them  that  he  is  here.  To-morrow  I  shall 
make  offering  at  the  temple.  Yet  I  have 
thanks,  too,  that  there  is  but  one  of  him. 

5  65 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Ah,  Mata,  —  you  ?  My  hot  bath,  is  it  ready  ? 
And,  friend  Mata,  do  you  recall  a  soothing 
draught  you  once  prepared  for  me  at  a  time 
of  great  mental  strain, — there  was,  I  think, 
something  I  wished  to  do  with  a  picture,  and 
the  picture  would  not  allow  it.  I  should  like 
a  draught  like  that  to-night." 

"  Kashikomarimashita.  I  recall  it,"  said 
old  Mata,  grimly,  "  and  I  shall  make  it  strong, 
for  you  have  something  worse  than  pictures 
to  deal  with  now." 

"  Thanks.  I  was  sure  you  would  remem 
ber,"  smiled  the  old  man,  and  Mata,  disarmed 
of  her  cynicism,  could  say  no  more. 

Ume  remained  in  her  chamber.  She  had 
not  been  seen  since  the  dance.  All  her  fu- 
suma  and  shoji  were  closed.  Mata,  in  leaving 
her  master,  looked  tentatively  toward  this 
room,  but  after  an  imperceptible  pause  kept 
on  down  the  central  passageway  of  the  house 
to  the  bathroom,  at  the  far  end.  The  place 
smelled  of  steam,  of  charcoal  fumes,  and  cedar 
wood.  With  two  long,  thin  iron  "  fire- 

66 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

sticks,"  Mata  poked,  from  the  top,  the  heap 
of  darkening  coals  in  the  cylindrical  furnace 
that  was  built  into  one  end  of  the  tub.  For 
the  protection  of  the  bather  this  was  sur 
rounded  with  a  wooden  lattice  which,  being 
always  wet  when  the  furnace  was  in  use, 
never  charred.  The  tub  itself  was  of  sugi- 
wood.  After  years  of  service  it  still  gave  out 
unfailingly  its  aromatic  breath,  and  felt  soft 
to  the  touch,  like  young  leaves.  Sighing 
heavily,  the  old  servant  bared  her  arm  and 
leaned  over  to  stir  the  water,  to  draw  down 
by  long,  elliptical  swirls  of  motion  the  heated 
upper  layers  into  cold  strata  at  the  bottom. 
She  then  wiped  her  arm  on  her  apron  and 
went  to  the  threshold  of  the  guest-room  to 
inform  the  waiting  occupant.  "  In  ten  min 
utes  more,  without  fail,  the  water  will  be  at 
right  heat  for  your  augustness." 

Now,  in  the  kitchen,  a  great  searching 
among  jars  and  boxes  on  high  shelves  told  of 
preparation  for  the  occasional  brew.  Again 
she  thought  of  calling  Ume.  time  could 

67 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

reach  the  highest  shelf  without  standing  on  an 
inverted  rice-pot,  or  the  even  more  precarious 
fish-cleaning  bench.  And  again,  for  a  reason 
not  quite  plain  to  herself,  Mata  decided  not  to 
call.  She  threw  a  fresh  handful  of  twigs  and 
dried  ferns  to  the  sleeping  ashes  of  the  bra 
zier,  set  a  copper  skillet  deep  into  the  answer 
ing  flame,  and  began  dropping  dried  bits  of 
herbs  into  the  simmering  water.  Instantly 
the  air  was  changed,  —  was  tinged  and  inter 
penetrated  with  hurrying,  spicy  fumes,  with 
hints  of  a  bitter  bark,  of  jellied  gums,  of  resin, 
and  a  compelling  odor  which  should  have 
been  sweet,  but  was  only  nauseating.  The 
steam  assumed  new  colors  as  it  rose.  Each 
sprite  of  aromatic  perfume  when  released 
plunged  into  noiseless  tumult  with  oppos 
ing  fumes.  The  kitchen  was  a  crucible, 
and  the  old  dame  a  mediaeval  alchemist. 
The  flames  and  smoke  striving  upward,  as 
if  to  reach  her  bending  face,  made  it  glow 
with  the  hue  of  the  copper  kettle,  a  wrin 
kled  copper,  etched  deep  with  lines  of  life,  of 

68 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

merriment,  perplexity,  of  shrewd  and  prac 
tical  experience. 

As  she  stirred,  testing  by  nose  and  eye  the 
rapid  completion  of  her  work,  she  was  deter 
mining  to  put  aside  for  her  own  use  a  goodly 
share  of  the  beneficent  fluid.  The  coming 
of  the  wild  man  had  unnerved  her  terribly. 
In  the  threatening  family  change  she  could 
perceive  nothing  but  menace.  Apprehension 
even  now  weighed  down  upon  her,  a  fore 
shadowing  of  evil  that  had,  somehow,  a  pres 
ent  hostage  in  the  deep  silence  of  Ume's 
room.  Of  what  was  her  nursling  thinking  ? 
How  had  it  seemed  to  her,  so  guarded,  and 
so  delicately  reared,  this  being  summoned 
like  a  hired  geisha  to  dance  before  a  stranger, 
— a  ragged,  unkempt,  hungry  stranger !  Even 
her  father's  well-known  madness  for  things  of 
art  could  scarcely  atone  to  his  child  for  this 
indignity. 

Kano  had  gone  promptly  to  his  bath.  He 
was  now  emerging.  His  bare  feet  grazed  the 
wooden  corridor.  Mata  ran  to  him.  "  Good  ! 

69 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Ah,  that  was  good  ! "  he  said  heartily.  "  Five 
years  of  aches  have  I  left  in  the  tub ! "  Within 
his  chamber  the  andon  was  already  lighted,  and 
the  long,  silken  bed-cushions  spread.  Mata 
assisted  him  to  slip  down  carefully  between 
the  mattress  and  the  thin  coverlid.  She 
patted  and  arranged  him  as  she  would  a 
child,  and  then  went  to  fetch  the  draught. 
"  Mata,  thou  art  a  treasure,"  he  said,  as  she 
knelt  beside  him,  the  bowl  outstretched.  He 
drained  the  last  drop,  and  the  old  friends  ex 
changed  smiles  of  answering  satisfaction.  Be 
fore  leaving  him  she  trimmed  and  lowered 
the  andon  so  that  its  yellow  light  would  be  a 
mere  glimmer  in  the  darkness. 

She  moved  now  deliberately  to  time's 
fusuma,  tapping  lightly  on  the  lacquered 
frame.  "  Miss  Ume  !  O  Jo  San  ! "  she  called. 
Nothing  answered. 

Mata  parted  the  fusuma  an  inch.  The 
Japanese  matted  floor,  even  in  darkness,  gives 
out  a  sort  of  ghostly,  phosphorescent  glow. 
Thus,  in  the  unlit  space  Mata  could  perceive 

70 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

that  the  girl  lay  at  full  length,  her  Dragon 
Robe  changed  to  an  ordinary  house  dress,  her 
long  hair  unbound,  her  face  turned  downward 
and  hidden  on  an  outstretched  arm.  It  was 
not  a  pose  of  grief,  neither  did  it  hint  of 
slumber. 

"  Honorable  Young  Lady  of  the  House," 
said  Mata,  now  more  severely,  "  I  came  to  an 
nounce  your  bath.  The  august  father  having 
already  entered  and  withdrawn,  it  is  your  turn." 

This  time  Ume  answered  her,  not,  however, 
changing  her  position.  "I  do  not  care  to 
take  the  bath  to-night.  You  enter,  I  pray, 
without  further  waiting.  I  -  - 1  —  should  like 
to  be  left  alone,  nurse.  I  myself  will  unroll 
the  bed  and  light  the  andon." 

Mata  leaned  nearer.  Her  voice  was  a  the 
atrical  whisper.  "  Is  it  that  you  are  outraged, 
my  Ume-ko,  at  your  father's  strange  demand 
upon  you  ?  I  was  myself  angered.  He  would 
scarcely  have  done  so  much  for  a  Prince  of  the 
Blood,  —  and  to  make  you  appear  before  so 
crude  and  ignorant  a  thing  as  that  — 

71 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Ume  sat  upright.  "  No,  I  am  angered 
at  nothing.  I  only  wish  to  be  alone.  Ah, 
nurse,  you  have  always  spoiled  me,  —  give 
me  my  way." 

Mata  went  off  grumbling.  She  wished  that 
Ume  had  shown  a  more  natural  indignation. 
The  hot  bath,  however,  notwithstanding 
Kano's  five  lost  years  of  pain  presumably  in 
solution,  brought  her  ease  of  body,  as  did  the 
soothing  potion,  ease  of  mind. 

All  night  long  the  old  folks  heavily  slept ; 
and  all  night  long  little  Ume-ko  drifted  in  a 
soft,  slow  rising  flood  of  consciousness  that 
was  neither  sleep  nor  waking,  though  wrought 
of  the  intertwining  strands  of  each.  Again 
she  saw  the  dark  face  in  the  gateway.  It  was 
a  mere  picture  in  a  frame,  set  for  an  artist's 
joy.  Then  it  seemed  a  summons,  calling  her 
to  unfamiliar  paths,  —  a  prophecy,  a  clew. 
Again  she  heard  his  voice,  —  an  echo  made 
of  all  these  things,  and  more.  She  tried  to 
force  herself  to  think  of  him  merely  as  an 
artist  would  think ;  how  the  lines  of  the 

72 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

shoulders  and  the  throat  flowed  upward,  like 
dark  flame,  to  the  altar  of  his  face.  How  the 
hair  grew  in  flame  upon  his  brow,  how  the 
dark  eyes,  fearless  and  innocent  with  the  look 
of  primeval  youth,  indeed,  held  a  strange 
human  pain  of  searching.  The  mere  remem 
bered  pictures  of  him  rose  and  fell  with  her 
as  sea-flowers,  or  long  river  grass  ;  but  when 
there  came  remembered  shiver  of  his  words, 
"  I  drink  no  more  until  my  cup  of  troth  with 
the  maiden  yonder  !  "  then  all  drifting  ceased  ; 
illusion  was  at  an  end.  With  a  gasp  she  felt 
herself  falling  straight  down  through  a  swirl 
ing  vortex  of  sensation,  to  the  very  sand-bed 
of  the  stream.  Now  she  was  sitting  upright 
(the  sand-bed  had  suddenly  become  the  floor  of 
her  little  room),  her  hands  pressing  a  heart  that 
was  trying  to  escape,  her  young  eyes  straining 
through  the  darkness  to  see,  —  ah! — she 
could  see  nothing  at  all  for  the  shining  ! 

She  listened  now  with  bated  breath,  think 
ing  that  by  some  unconscious  cry  she  might 
have  aroused  the  others.  No,  Kano  breathed 

73 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

on  softly,  regularly,  in  the  next  room ;  while 
from  the  kitchen  wing  came  unfaltering  the 
beat  of  Mata's  nasal  metronome. 

In  one  such  startled  interval  of  waking  her 
caged  cricket  had  given  out  its  plaintive  cry. 
All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Ume-ko  an  unbearable 
thing  for  any  spark  of  life  to  be  so  prisoned. 
She  longed  to  set  him  free,  but  even  though 
she  opened  wide  her  shoji,  the  outer  night- 
doors,  the  amado  stretched,  a  relentless  opaque 
wall,  along  the  four  sides  of  the  house. 

She  lay  quiet  now  for  a  long  time.  "  I 
will  return  with  the  sun,"  he  had  said.  She 
wished  that  the  cricket  were  indeed  outside, 
and  could  tell  her  of  the  first  dawn-stirring. 
It  was  very  close  and  dark  in  the  little  room. 
She  had  not  lighted  the  andon  after  all.  It 
could  not  be  so  dark  outside.  With  very 
cautious  fingers  she  began  now  to  separate 
the  shoji  that  opened  on  the  garden  side.  A 
breath  of  exquisite  night  air  rushed  in  to  her 
from  the  lattices  above  the  amado.  It  would 
be  a  difficult  matter  to  push  even  one  of 

74 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

these  aside  without  waking  the  house.  Yet, 
there  were  two  things  in  her  favor ;  the  un 
usually  heavy  sleep  of  her  companions  and 
the  fact  that  the  amado  had  a  starting  point 
in  their  long  grooves  from  a  shallow  closet 
very  near  her  room.  So  instead  of  having  to 
remove  the  whole  chain,  each  clasping  by  a 
metal  hand,  its  neighbor,  she  had  but  to 
unbar  the  initial  panel,  coax  it  noiselessly 
apart  just  far  enough  to  emit  a  not  too  bulky 
form,  and  then  the  night  would  be  hers. 

There  had  been  in  the  girl's  life  so  little 
need  of  cunning  or  of  strategy  that  her  inno 
cent  adventure  now  brought  a  disturbing 
sense  of  crime.  She  had  unlatched  the  first 
amado  in  safety,  and  had  her  white  arms 
braced  to  push  it  to  one  side,  when,  suddenly 
she  thought,  "I  am  acting  like  a  thief! 
Perhaps  I  am  feeling  like  a  thief !  This  is  a 
terrible  thing  and  must  displease  the  gods." 
Her  hands  dropped  limply,  she  must  not 
continue  with  this  deed.  Somewhere  near 
her  feet  the  cricket  gave  out  an  importunate 

75 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

chirp.  She  stooped  to  him,  feeling  about  for 
the  little  residence  with  tender,  groping  hands. 
She  must  give  him  freedom,  though  she  dared 
not  take  it  for  herself.  Yet  it  would  be  sweet 
to  breathe  the  world  for  its  own  sake  once 
more  before  he  —  and  the  sun  —  returned. 

The  amado  went  back  as  if  of  itself.  In 
an  instant  Ume's  face  was  among  the  dew- 
wet  leaves  of  the  plum  tree.  Oh,  it  was 
sweet !  The  night  smelled  of  silence  and  the 
stars.  She  threw  back  her  head  to  drink 
it  like  a  liquid.  She  lifted  the  insect  in  its  cage. 
By  holding  it  high,  against  a  star  of  special 
brightness,  she  could  see  the  tiny  bit  of  life 
gazing  at  her  through  its  bars.  She  opened  the 
door  of  the  cage,  and  set  it  among  the  twigs  of 
the  plum.  Then  barefooted,  ungirdled,  with 
hair  unbound,  she  stepped  down  upon  the 
stone  beneath  the  tree,  and  then  to  the  garden 
path. 


76 


IV 

THE  pebbles  of  the  garden  were  slippery 
and  cold  under  the  feet  that  pressed 
them.  Also  they  hurt  a  little.  Ume 
longed  to  return  for  her  straw  sandals,  but 
this  freedom  of  the  night  was  already  far  too 
precious  for  jeopardy.  She  caught  her  robe 
about  her  throat  and  was  glad  of  the  silken 
shawl  of  her  long  hair.  How  thickly  shone 
the  stars  !  It  must  be  close  upon  the  hour  of 
their  waning,  yet  how  big  and  soft ;  and  how 
companionable !  She  stretched  her  arms  up 
to  them,  moving  as  if  they  drew  her  down 
the  path.  They  were  more  real,  indeed,  than 
the  dim  and  preternatural  space  in  which  she 
walked. 

She  looked  slowly  about  upon  that  which 
should  have  been  commonplace  and  found  the 
outlines  alone  to  be  unaltered.  There  were 

77 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

the  hillock,  the  house,  the  thick  hedge-lines 
square  at  the  corners  with  black  bars  hard  as 
wood  against  the  purple  night ;  there  were 
the  winding  paths  and  little  courts  of  open 
gravel.  She  could  have  put  her  hand  out,  say 
ing,  "  Here,  on  this  point,  should  be  the  tall 
stone  lantern  ;  here,  in  this  sheltered  curve,  a 
fern."  Both  lantern  and  fern  would  have  been 
in  place ;  and  yet,  despite  these  evidences  of 
the  usual,  all  that  once  made  the  sunlit  gar 
den  space  an  individual  spot,  was,  in  this  dim, 
ghostly  air,  transformed.  The  spirit  of  the 
whole  had  taken  on  weird  meaning.  It  was 
as  if  Mata's  face  looked  suddenly  upon  her 
with  the  old  abbot's  eyes.  Fantastic  possi 
bilities  crouched,  ready  to  spring  from  every 
shadow.  The  low  shrubs  held  themselves  in 
attitudes  of  flight.  This  was  a  world  in  which 
she  had  no  part.  She  knew  herself  a  paradox, 
the  violator  of  a  mood  ;  but  the  enchantment 
held  her. 

She  had  reached  now  the  edge  of  the  pond. 
It  was  a  surface  of  polished  lacquer,  darker 

78 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

than  the  night,  and  powdered  thick  with  the 
gold  of  reflected  stars.  Leaning  over,  she 
marvelled  at  the  silhouette  of  her  own  slim 
figure.  It  did  not  seem  to  have  an  actual 
place  among  these  frail  phantasmagoria.  As 
she  stared  on  she  noticed  that  the  end  of  the 
pond  farthest  from  her,  to  the  west,  quivered 
and  turned  gray.  She  looked  quickly  upward 
and  around.  Yes,  there  to  the  east  was  the 
answering  blur  of  light.  Dawn  had  begun. 

She  ran  now  to  the  top  of  the  moon- viewing 
hill.  The  earth  was  wider  here ;  the  dawn 
more  at  home.  Below  her  where  the  city 
used  to  be  was  no  city,  only  a  white  fog-sea, 
without  an  island.  The  cliff,  black  at  the 
base,  rising  gradually  into  thinner  gray,  drove 
through  the  air  like  the  edge  of  a  coming  world. 
A  chill  breeze  swept  out  from  the  hollow, 
breathing  of  waking  grasses  and  of  dew.  The 
girl  shivered,  but  it  was  with  ecstacy.  "  I 
climb  this  hillside  for  my  couch,  to-night ! " 
Was  he  too  waking,  watching,  feeling  himself 
intruder  upon  a  soundless  ritual  ?  There  was 

79 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

a  hissing  noise  as  of  a  fawn  hurrying  down  a 
tangled  slope.  The  hedge  near  the  cliff  end 
of  the  garden  dipped  and  squeaked  and  shook 
indignant  plumes  after  a  figure  that  had  dese 
crated  its  green  guardianship,  and  was  now 
striding  ruthlessly  across  the  enclosure. 

Um£  heard  and  saw ;  then  wrung  her  hands 
in  terror.  It  was  he,  of  course,  —  the  Dragon 
Painter ;  and  he  would  speak  with  her.  What 
could  she  do  ?  Family  honor  must  be  main 
tained,  and  so  she  could  not  cry  for  help. 
Why  had  her  heart  tormented  her  to  go  into 
the  night?  Why  had  she  not  thought  of  this 
possibility  ?  Because  of  it,  life,  happiness, 
everything  might  be  wrecked,  even  before  they 
had  dared  to  think  of  happiness  by  name  ! 

Tatsu  had  reached  her.  Leaning  close  he 
set  his  eyes  to  her  face  as  one  who  drinks 
deep  and  silently. 

"  I  must  not  remain.  Oh,  sir,  let  me 
pass  !  "  she  whispered. 

He  did  not  speak  or  try  to  touch  her. 
A  second  gust  of  wind  came  from  the  cliff, 

80 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

blowing  against  his  hand  a  long  tress  of  her 
hair.  It  was  warm  and  perfumed,  and  had 
the  clinging  tenderness  of  youth.  He  shiv 
ered  now,  as  she  was  doing,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  his  hand.  Unie  made  a  swift  mo 
tion  as  if  to  pass  him ;  but  he  threw  out  the 
barrier  of  an  arm. 

"  I  have  been  calling  you  all  the  night. 
Now,  at  last,  you  have  come.  Why  did  you 
never  answer  me  upon  the  mountains  ? " 

"  Indeed,  I  could  not.  I  was  not  permitted. 
As  you  must  see  for  yourself,  lord,  in  this 
incarnation  I  am  but  a  mortal  maiden." 

"  I  do  not  see  it  for  myself,"  said  Tatsu, 
with  a  low,  triumphant  laugh.  "  I  see  some 
thing  different !  "  Suddenly  he  reached  for 
ward,  caught  the  long  ends  of  her  hair  and 
held  them  out  to  left  and  right,  the  full  width 
of  his  arms.  They  stood  for  a  moment  in  in 
tense  silence,  gazing  each  into  the  face  of  the 
other.  The  rim  of  the  dawn  behind  them 
cut,  with  its  flat,  gold  disc,  straight  down  to 
the  heart  of  the  world.  "  You  a  mortal ! " 

6  81 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

said  the  boy  again,  exultantly.  "Why,  even 
now,  your  face  is  the  white  breast  of  a  great 
sea-bird,  your  hair,  its  shining  wings,  and  your 
soul  a  message  that  the  gods  have  sent  to 
me !  Oh,  I  know  you  for  what  you  are,  — 
my  Dragon  Maid,  my  bride !  Have  I  not 
sought  you  all  these  years,  tracing  your  face 
on  rocks  and  sand-beds  of  my  hills,  hanging 
my  prayers  to  every  blossoming  tree  ?  Come, 
you  are  mine  at  last ;  here  is  your  master  ! 
We  will  escape  together  while  the  stupid  old 
ones  sleep  !  Come,  soul  of  my  soul,  to  our 
mountains ! " 

He  would  have  seized  her,  but  a  quick,  pas 
sionate  gesture  of  repulsion  kept  him  back. 
"  I  am  the  child  of  Kano  Indara,"  she  said. 
"  He,  too,  has  power  of  the  gods,  and  I  obey 
him.  Oh,  sir,  believe  that  you,  as  I,  are 
subject  to  his  will,  for  if  you  set  yourself 
against  him  —  " 

"  Kano  Indara  concerns  me  not  at  all," 
cried  Tatsu,  half  angrily.  "  It  is  with  you,  — 
with  you  alone,  I  speak  ! " 

82 


* 

THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Ume  poised  at  the  very  tip  of  the  hill. 
"  Look,  sir,  —  the  plum  tree,"  she  whispered, 
pointing.  So  sudden  was  the  change  in  voice 
and  manner  that  the  other  tripped  and  was 
caught  by  it.  "  That  longest,  leafy  branch 
touches  the  very  wall  of  my  room,"  she  went 
on,  creeping  always  a  little  down  the  hill. 
"If  you  again  will  write  such  things  to  me, 
trusting  your  missive  to  that  branch,  I  shall 
receive  it,  and  —  will  answer.  Oh,  it  is  a  bold, 
unheard-of  thing  for  a  girl  to  do,  but  I  shall 
answer." 

"  I  should  like  better  that  you  meet  me 
here  each  morning  at  this  hour,"  said  Tatsu. 

The  girl  looked  about  her  swiftly,  gave  a 
little  cry,  and  clasped  her  hands  together. 
"  See,  lord,  the  day  comes  fast.  Mata,  my 
old  nurse,  may  already  be  astir.  I  saw  a 
flock  of  sparrows  fly  down  suddenly  to  the 
kitchen  door.  And  there,  above  us,  on  the 
great  camphor  tree,  the  sun  has  smitten  with 
a  fist  of  gold  ! " 

Tatsu  gazed  up,  and  when  his  eyes  returned 

83 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

to  earth  he  found  himself  companionless. 
He  threw  himself  down,  a  miserable  heap, 
clasping  his  knees  upon  the  hill.  No  longer 
was  the  rosy  dawn  for  him.  He  found  no 
timid  beauty  in  the  encroaching  day.  His 
sullen  look  fastened  itself  upon  the  amado 
beneath  the  plum  tree.  The  panels  were  now 
tightly  closed.  The  house  itself,  soundless 
and  gray  in  the  fast  brightening  space,  mocked 
him  with  impassivity. 

A  little  later,  when  the  neighborhood  re 
verberated  to  the  slamming  of  amado  and  the 
sharp  rattle  of  paper  dusters  against  taut  shoji 
panes  ;  when  fragrant  faggot  smoke  went  up 
from  every  cottage,  and  the  street  cries  of 
itinerant  venders  signalled  domestic  buying 
for  the  day,  Mata  discovered  the  wild  man  in 
the  garden,  and  roused  her  sleeping  master 
with  the  news.  She  went,  too,  to  time's 
room,  and  was  reassured  to  see  the  girl  appar 
ently  in  slumber  within  a  neat  bed,  the  andon 
burning  temperately  in  its  corner,  and  the 
whole  place  eloquent  of  innocence  and  peace. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Kano  shivered  himself  into  his  day  clothes 
(the  process  was  not  long),  and  hurried  out  to 
meet  his  guest. 

"  O  Haiyo  gozaimasu  !  "  he  called.  "  You 
have  found  a  good  spot  from  which  to  view 
the  dawn." 

"  Good  morning ! "  said  Tatsu,  looking 
about  as  if  to  escape. 

"  Come,  enter  my  humble  house  with  me, 
young  sir.  Breakfast  will  soon  be  served." 

Tatsu  rose  instantly,  though  the  gesture 
was  far  from  giving  an  effect  of  acquiescence. 
He  shook  his  cramped  limbs  writh  as  little 
ceremony  as  if  Kano  were  a  shrub,  and 
then  turned,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
flight.  Suddenly  the  instinct  of  hunger 
claimed  him.  Breakfast !  That  had  a 
pleasant  sound.  And  where  else  was  he  to 
go  for  food  !  He  wheeled  around  to  his 
waiting  host.  "I  thank  you.  I  will  enter!" 
he  said,  and  attempted  an  archaic  bow. 

Mata  brought  in  to  them,  immediately,  hot 
tea  and  a  small  dish  of  pickled  plums.  Kano 

85 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  saw  Tatsu  take  up 
a  plum,  and  then  accept,  from  the  servant's 
hands,  a  cup  of  steaming  tea.  These  things 
promised  well  for  future  docility. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  the  meal  was 
convivial.  Ume-ko  had  received  orders  from 
her  father  not  to  appear.  Tatsu 's  eyes,  even 
as  he  ate,  roamed  ever  along  the  corridors  of 
the  house,  out  to  the  garden,  and  pried  at 
the  closed  edges  of  the  fusuma.  This  rest 
lessness  brought  to  the  host  new  apprehen 
sion.  Such  tension  could  not  last.  Tatsu 
must  be  enticed  from  the  house. 

After  some  hesitation  and  a  spasmodic 
clearing  of  the  throat,  the  old  man  asked, 
"Will  you  accompany  me,  young  sir,  upon 
a  short  walk  to  the  city  ? " 

"Why  should  I  go  to  the  city?" 

"  Ah  —  er  —  domo !  it  is,  as  you  know, 
the  centre  of  the  universe,  and  has  many 
wonderful  sights, — great  temples,  theatres, 
wide  shops  for  selling  clothes  - 

"  I  care  nothing  for  these  things." 
86 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  There  are  gardens,  too ;  and  a  broad, 
shining  river.  Shall  we  not  go  to  the  autumn 
flowering  garden  of  the  Hundred  Corners  ? " 

"  To  such  a  place  as  that  I  would  go  alone, 
—  or  with  her,"  said  the  boy,  his  disconcert 
ing  gaze  fixed  on  the  other's  face.  "  When 
is  the  Dragon  Maiden  to  appear  ? " 

Kano  looked  down  upon  the  matting.  He 
cleared  his  throat  again,  drained  a  fresh  cup 
of  tea,  and  answered  slowly,  "  Since  she  and 
I  are  of  the  city,  —  not  the  mountains,  —  and 
must  abide  in  some  degree  by  the  city's  social 
laws,  you  will  not  see  her  any  more  at  all, 
unless  it  be  arranged  that  you  become  her 
husband." 

"  And  then,  —  if  I  become  what  you  say, 
-  how  soon  ? "  the  other  panted. 

"  I  shall  need  to  speak  with  the  women 
of  my  house  concerning  this,"  said  Kano  in 
a  troubled  voice.  He  too,  though  Tatsu 
must  not  dream  it,  chafed  at  convention. 
He  longed  to  set  the  marriage  for  next 
week,  —  next  day,  indeed,  —  and  have  the 

87 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

waiting  over.  Kano  hated,  of  all  things,  to 
wait.  Something  might  befall  this  untrained 
citizen  at  any  hour,  —  then  where  would  the 
future  of  the  Kano  name  be  found  ? 

He  had  scarcely  noted  how  the  boy 
crouched  and  quivered  in  his  place,  as  an 
animal  about  to  spring.  This  indecision 
was  a  goad,  a  barb.  Yet  he  was  helpless ! 
The  memory  of  Ume's  whispered  words 
came  back :  "  He,  too,  has  power  of  the 
gods.  .  .  .  Believe,  sir,  that  you,  as  I,  are 
subject  to  his  will."  How  could  it  be  per 
mitted  of  the  gods  that  two  beings  like 
themselves,  —  fledged  of  divinity,  touched 
with  ethereal  fire,  —  were  under  bondage  to 
this  wrinkled  fox ! 

Tatsu  flung  himself  sidewise  upon  the 
floor,  and  made  as  if  to  rise ;  then,  in  a  dull 
reaction,  settled  back  into  his  place.  "  You 
say  she  is  not  to  come  before  me  in  this 
house  to-day  ? " 

"  No,    nor    on    other    days,    until     your 

marriage." 

88 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Then  I  go  forth  into  the  city,  —  alone," 
said  the  boy.  He  rose,  but  Kano  stopped 
him. 

"  Wait !  I  shall  accompany  you,  if  but 
a  little  way.  You  do  not  know  the  roads. 
You  will  be  lost  1 " 

"  I  could  return  to  this  place  from  the 
under-rim  of  the  world,"  said  Tatsu.  "  Bound, 
crippled,  blindfold,  —  I  should  come  straight 
to  it." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  said  Kano,  "  nevertheless 
I  will  go." 

Tatsu  would  have  defied  him,  outright,  but 
Ume's  words  remained  with  him.  Nothing 
mattered,  after  all,  if  he  was  some  day  to 
gain  her.  He  must  be  patient,  put  a  curb 
upon  his  moods !  This  was  a  fearful  task 
for  one  like  him,  but  he  would  strive  for 
self-control  just  as  one  throws  down  a 
tree  to  bridge  a  torrent.  After  the  Dragon 
Maid  was  won,  —  well  then,  —  this  halting 
insect  man  need  not  trouble  them.  They 
left  the  house  together,  Tatsu  in  scowling 

89 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

silence  at  the  unwelcomed  comradeship,  Kano 
hard  put  to  it  to  match  his  steps  with  the 
boy's  long,  swinging  mountain  stride. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  this  wild  falcon 
for  a  month  ? "  thought  Kano,  half  in  despair, 
yet  smiling,  also,  at  the  humor.  "  He  must 
be  clothed,  —  but  how  ?  I  would  sooner 
sheathe  a  mountain  cat  in  silks  !  The  one 
hope  of  existence  during  this  interval  is  to 
get  him  engrossed  in  painting  ;  but  where  is 
he  to  paint  ?  I  dare  not  keep  him  in  the 
house  with  Ume,  nor  with  old  Mata,  neither, 
for  she  might  poison  him.  If  only  Ando 
Uchida  had  not  gone  away,  leaving  no 
address  ! " 

Meantime,  in  the  Kano  home,  Mata  and 
Ume  moved  about  in  different  planes  of 
consciousness.  The  elder  was  still  irritated 
by  the  morning's  event.  She  considered  it  a 
personal  indignity,  a  family  outrage,  that  her 
master  should  walk  the  streets  of  Yeddo  with 
a  vagabond  possessing  neither  hat  nor  shoes, 
and  only  half  a  kimono. 

90 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Each  tended,  as  usual,  her  allotted  house 
hold  tasks.  There  was  no  change  in  the 
outer  performance  of  the  hours,  but  Mata 
remained  alert,  disturbed,  and  the  girl  tran 
quilly  oblivious.  The  old  face  searching 
with  keen  eyes  the  young  noted  with 
troubled  frown  the  frequent  smile,  the  inter 
vals  of  listless  dreaming,  the  sudden  starts,  as 
by  the  prick  of  memory  still  new,  and  dipped 
in  honey.  There  seemed  to  be  in  Ume-ko 
a  gentle  yearning  for  a  human  presence, 
though,  to  speak  truly,  Mata  could  not  be 
certain  that  she  was  either  heard  or  seen  for 
fully  one  half  of  the  time.  The  hour  had 
almost  reached  the  shadowless  one  of  noon. 
Ume-ko's  work  was  done.  She  had  taken  up 
her  painting,  only  to  put  it  listlessly  to  one 
side.  The  pretty  embroidery  frame  met  the 
same  indignity.  She  sat  now  on  the  kitchen 
ledge,  while  Mata  made  the  fire  and  washed 
the  rice,  toying  idly  with  a  white  pebble 
chosen  for  its  beauty  from  thousands  on  the 
garden  path.  Something  in  the  childlike  at- 

91 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

titude,  the  placid,  irresponsible  face,  brought 
the  old  servant's  impatience  to  a  climax. 
She  deliberately  hurled  a  dart. 

"  I  suppose  you  know,  Miss  Urne,  that 
your  father  may  actually  adopt  this  goblin 
from  Kin  Shiu  !  " 

"  Ah,  do  you  mean  Sir  Tatsu  ?  Yes,  I 
know.  He,  my  father,  has  always  longed  to 
have  a  son." 

"  A  son  is  desirable  when  the  price  is  not 
too  great,"  said  the  old  dame,  nodding 
sagely.  "  You  are  old  enough  to  realize  also, 
Miss  Kano  Ume-ko,  what  is  the  meaning  of 
adoption  into  a  family  where  there  is  a 
daughter  of  marriageable  age." 

Time's  face  drooped  over  until  the  pebble 
caught  a  rosy  glow.  The  old  servant 
chuckled.  "  Eh,  young  mistress,  you  know 
what  I  mean  ?  "  You  are  thinking  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  trying  very  hard  not  to  think  of  it," 
said  Ume. 

"  Ma-a-a !  And  I  have  little  wonder  for 
that  fact !  Your  father  will  sacrifice  you 

92 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

without  a  tear,  —  he  cares  but  for  pictures. 
And  Mata  is  helpless,  —  Mata  cannot  help 
her  babe  !  Ara  !  It  is  a  world  of  dust !  " 

"  How  old  was  my  mother  when  she  came 
here,  Mata  ? " 

"Just  eighteen.  Younger  than  you  are 
now,  my  treasure." 

"  She  was  both  beautiful  and  happy,  you 
have  said." 

"  Yes,  both,  both !  Ah,  how  time 
speeds  for  the  old.  It  seems  but  a  short 
year  or  more  that  we  two  entered  here 'to 
gether,  she  and  I.  From  childhood  I  had 
nursed  her.  I  thought  your  father  old  for 
her,  in  spite  of  his  young  heart  and  increasing 
fame.  But  he  loved  her  truly,  and  has 
mourned  for  her.  Even  now  he  prays  thrice 
daily  before  her  ihai  on  the  shrine.  And  she 
loved  him,  —  almost  too  deeply  for  a  woman 
of  her  class.  She  loved  him,  and  was  happy  ! " 
"Only  one  year !"  sighed  Ume.  "But  it  must 
be  a  great  thing  to  be  happy  even  for  one 
year.  Some  people  are  not  happy  ever  at  all." 

93 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  One  must  not  think  of  personal  happi 
ness, —  it  is  wicked.  Does  not  even  your 
old  mumbling  abbot  on  the  hill  tell  you  so 
much  ?  And  now,  of  all  times,  do  not  start 
the  dreaming.  You  will  be  sacrificed  to  art," 
said  Mata,  gloomily. 

"  Do  I  look  like  my  mother,  Mata  San  ?  " 
The  old  dame  wiped  her  eyes  on  her  sleeve 
that  she  might  see  more  clearly.  Something 
in  the  girl's  pure,  upraised  face  caught  at  her 
heart,  and  the  tears  came  afresh.  "  Wait," 
she  whispered  ;  "  stay  where  you  are,  and  you 
shall  see  your  mother's  face."  She  went  into 
her  tiny  chamber,  and  from  her  treasures 
brought  out  a  metal  mirror  given  her  by  the 
young  wife,  Uta-ko.  "  Look,  —  close,  "  she 
said,  placing  it  in  time's  hand.  "  That  is  the 
bride  of  nineteen  years  ago.  Never  have  you 
looked  so  like  her  as  at  this  hour  ! " 

Kano  came  back  alone,  —  tired,  dusty,  and 
discouraged.  Tatsu  had  escaped  him,  he  said, 
at  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Sumida  River. 

94 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

There  was  no  telling  when  he  might  return, 
—  whether  he  would  ever  return.  To  at 
tempt  control  of  Tatsu  was  like  caging  a 
storm  in  bamboo  bars.  Mata's  eyes  narrowed 
at  this  recital.  "  Yet  I  fervently  thank  the 
gods  for  him,"  said  the  speaker,  sharply,  in 
defiance  of  her  look. 

Restored  to  comparative  serenity,  Kano, 
later  in  the  afternoon,  sent  for  his  daughter, 
and  condescended  to  unfold  to  her  those 
plans  in  which  she  played  a  vital  part. 

"  Ume-ko,  my  child,  you  have  always  been 
a  good  and  obedient  daughter.  I  shall  expect 
no  opposition  from  you  now,"  he  began,  in 
the  manner  of  a  patriarch. 

Ume  bowed  respectfully.  "  Thank  you, 
dear  father.  What  has  arisen  that  you  think 
1  may  wish  to  oppose  ? " 

"  I  did  not  say  that  I  expected  you  to 
oppose  anything.  I  said,  on  the  contrary, 
it  was  something  I  expected  you  not  to 
oppose." 

"  I  await  respectfully  the  words  which  shall 
95 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

tell  me  what  it  is  I  am  not  to  oppose,"  said 
Ume-ko,  quite  innocently,  with  another  bow. 
Kano  put  on  his  horn-rimmed  spectacles. 
There  was  something  about  his  daughter  not 
altogether  reassuring.  His  prearranged  sen 
tences  began  to  slip  away,  like  sand. 

"  I  will  speak  briefly.  I  wish  you  to  be 
come  the  wife  of  the  Dragon  Painter,  that  we 
may  secure  him  to  the  race' of  Kano.  He  has 
no  name  of  his  own.  He  is  the  greatest 
painter  since  Sesshu  1 "  The  speaker  waved 
his  hands.  All  had  been  said. 

In  the  deep,  following  silence  each  knew 
that  old  Mata's  ear  felt,  like  a  hand,  at  the 
crevice  of  the  shoji. 

"Father,  are  you  sure,  —  have  you  yet 
spoken  to  —  to  —  him,"  Ume-ko  faltered  at 
last.  "  Would  he  augustly  condescend  ?  " 

"  Condescend  ! "  echoed  the  old  man  with  a 
laugh.  "  Why,  he  demanded  it  last  night, 
even  in  the  first  hour  of  meeting.  He  was 
angered  that  I  did  not  give  you  up  at  once. 

jfe 

He  says  you  are  his  already.    Oh,  he  is  strange 

96 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  wild,  this  youth.  There  are  no  reins  to 
hold  him,  but  —  he  is  a  painter  !  " 

A  grunt  of  derision  came  from  the  kitchen 
wall.  Ume  sat  motionless,  but  her  face  was 
growing  very  pale. 

"  Well,"  said  her  father  with  impatience, 
"  do  you  agree  ?  And  what  is  the  earliest 
possible  date  ? " 

"  I  must  consult  with  Mata,"  whispered  the 
girl. 

"  She  listens  at  the  crack.  Consult  her 
now,"  said  Kano. 

The  old  dame  threw  aside  the  shoji  like  an 
armor,  and  walked  in.  "  Yes,  ask  me  what  I 
think  !  Ask  the  old  servant  who  has  nursed 
Miss  Ume  from  her  birth,  managed  the  house, 
scrubbed,  haggled,  washed,  and  broken  her 
old  bones  for  you !  This  is  my  advice, — freely 
given,  —  make  of  the  youth  her  jinrikisha 
man,  but  not  her  husband  !  " 

"  Impertinent  old  witch ! "  cried  Kano. 
"  You  are  asked  for  nothing  but  the  earliest 
possible  date  for  the  marriage  ! " 

7  97 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Do  you  give  yourself  so  tamely  to  a  dan 
gerous  wild  creature  from  the  hills  ? "  Mata 
demanded  of  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  yes,  she  '11  marry  him,"  said  Kano, 
before  her  words  could  come.     "  The  date,  — 
the  earliest  possible  hour !    Will  two  weeks 
be  too  soon  ? " 

**  Two  weeks  ! "  shrieked  the  old  dame,  and 
staggered  backward.  "Is  it  of  the  scaven 
ger's  daughter  that  you  speak  ?  " 

"  Four  weeks,  then,  —  a  month.  It  cannot 
be  more.  I  tell  you,  woman,  for  a  longer  time 
than  this  I  cannot  keep  the  youth  at  bay. 
Is  a  month  decent  in  convention's  eyes  ? " 

Mata  began  to  sob  loudly  in  her  upraised 
sleeve. 

"  I  see  that  it  is  at  least  permissible,"  said 
Kano,  grimly.  "  What  a  weak  set  of  social 
idiots  we  are,  after  all.  Tatsu  is  right  to 
scorn  us !  Well,  well,  a  month  from  this 
date,  deep  in  the  golden  heart  of  autumn, 
will  the  wedding  be." 

"  If  the  day  be  propitious  and  the  stars  in 
98 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

harmony,"  supplemented  JNlata.  "  She  shall 
not  be  married  in  the  teeth  of  evil  fortune,  if 
I  have  to  murder  the  Dragon  Painter  with  my 
fish-knife ! " 

"  Oh,  go ;  have  the  stars  arranged  to  suit 
you.  Here's  money  for  it!"  He  fumbled 
in  his  belt  for  a  purse  of  coin,  threw  it  to  the 
mats,  and,  over  the  old  dame's  stooping  back, 
motioned  Ume-ko  permission  to  withdraw. 
The  girl  went  swiftly,  thankful  for  the  release. 

"  A  good  child,  —  a  daughter  to  thank  the 
gods  for,"  chuckled  Kano,  as  she  left. 

Mata  looked  sharply  about,  then  leaned  to 
her  master's  ear.  "  You  are  blind  ;  you  are 
an  earth-rat,  Kano  Indara.  This  is  not  the 
usual  submission  of  a  silly  girl.  Ume  is  think 
ing  things  we  know  nothing  of.  Did  you  not 
see  that  her  face  was  as  a  bean-curd  in  its 
whiteness  ?  She  kept  so  still,  only  because 
she  was  shaking  in  all  directions  at  once. 
There,  look  at  her  now !  She  is  fleeing  to 
the  garden  with  the  uncertain  step  of  one 
drunk  with  deep  foreboding ! " 

99 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Bah  !  you  are  an  old  raven  croaking  in  a 
fog !  Go  back  to  your  pots.  I  can  manage 
my  own  child  ! " 

"  You  have  never  yet  managed  her  or  your 
self  either,"  was  the  spoiled  old  servant's  part 
ing  shaft. 

Kano  sat  watching  the  slender,  errant  figure 
in  the  garden.  Yes,  she  had  taken  it  calmly, 
—  more  calmly  than  he  could  have  hoped. 
How  beautiful  was  the  poise,  even  at  this  dis 
tance,  of  the  delicate  throat,  and  the  head, 
with  its  wide  crown  of  inky  hair !  Each  mo 
tion  of  the  slow-strolling  form  in  its  clinging 
robes  was  a  separate  loveliness. 

Kano  drew  a  long  sigh.  He  could  net 
blind  himself  to  Tatsu's  savagery.  This  was 
not  the  sort  of  husband  that  Ume  had  a  right 
to  expect  from  her  father's  choice,  —  a  youtli 
not  only  penniless,  and  without  family  name, 
but  in  himself  unusual,  strange,  with  look, 
voice,  gesture,  coloring  each  a  clear  contrast 
to  the  men  that  Ume-ko  had  seen.  He 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  her  unhap- 
100 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

piness,  and  yet,  at  any  sacrifice,  Tatsu  must 
be  kept  an  inmate  of  their  home. 

The  girl  had  stopped  beside  the  sunlit 
pond,  leaning  far  over.  She  did  not  seem  to 
note  the  clustering  carp  at  all,  but  rather 
dwell  upon  her  own  image,  twisted  and  shot 
through  with  the  gold  of  their  darting  bodies. 
Now,  with  dragging  feet  she  went  to  the 
moon-viewing  hill,  remaining  in  the  shadow 
of  it,  and  pausing  for  long  thought.  Her 
eyes  were  on  the  cliff,  now  raised  to  the 
camphor  tree.  Suddenly  she  shivered  and 
hid  her  face.  What  was  the  tumult  of  that 
ignorant  young  breast  ? 

The  old  man  rose  and  went  to  an  inner 
room  where  hung  the  Butsudan,  the  shrine. 
He  stood  gazing  upon  the  ihai  of  his  wife. 
His  lips  moved,  but  the  breath  so  lightly 
issued  that  the  flame  on  the  altar  did  not 
stir.  "  She,  our  one  child,  has  come  now  to 
the  borders  of  that  woman-land  where  I  can 
not  go  with  her,"  he  was  saying.  "  Thou  art 
the  soul  to  guide,  and  give  her  happiness, 

101 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

thou,  the  dear  one  of  my  life,  —  the  dead 
young  mother  who  has  never  really  died  ! " 
He  folded  his  hands  now,  and  bowed  his 
head.  The  small  flame  leaned  to  him.  "Namu 
Amida  Butsu,  Namu  Amida  Butsu,"  mur 
mured  the  old  man. 

Out  by  the  hill,  a  butterfly,  snow  white, 
rested  a  moment  on  the  young  girl's  hair. 
She  was  again  looking  at  the  cliff,  and  did 
not  notice  it. 


102 


A  "DO  UCHIDA,  from  his  green  seclu 
sion  among  the  bamboo  groves  of 
Meguro,  sent,  from  time  to  time,  a 
scout  into  the  city.  First  an  ordinary  hotel 
kotsukai  or  man-servant  was  employed.  This 
experiment  proved  costly  as  well  as  futile. 
The  kotsukai  demanded  large  payment ;  and 
then  the  creature's  questions  to  Mata  were  of 
a  nature  so  crude  and  undiplomatic  that  they 
aroused  instant  suspicion,  causing,  indeed,  the 
threat  of  a  dipper  of  scalding  water. 

The  next  messenger  was  an  insect  ped 
dler,  Katsuo  Takanaka  by  name.  It  was  the 
part  of  this  youth  to  search  daily  among  the 
bamboo  stems  and  hillside  grasses  of  Meguro 
for  the  musical  suzu-mushi,  the  hataori,  and 
the  kirigirisu.  These  he  incarcerated  in  fairy 
cages  of  plaited  straw,  threaded  the  cages  into 

103 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

great  hornets'  nests  that  dangled  from  the  two 
ends  of  his  creaking  shoulder-pole,  and  started 
toward  the  city  in  a  perfect  storm  of  insect 
music.  The  noise  moved  with  him  like  a 
cloud.  It  formed,  as  it  were,  a  penumbra  of 
fine  shrilling,  and  could  be  heard  for  many 
streets  in  advance.  This  itinerant  merchant 
was  commissioned  to  haunt  the  Kano  gate 
until  impatience  or  curiosity  should  fling  it 
wide  for  him.  Then,  after  having  coaxed  old 
Mata  into  making  a  purchase,  he  was  to  engage 
her  in  conversation,  and  extract  all  the  do 
mestic  information  he  could.  Unfortunately 
for  the  acquisition  of  paltry  news,  it  was 
Ume-ko,  not  Mata,  who  came  out  to  pur 
chase.  The  seller,  watching  those  slim,  white 
fingers  as  they  fluttered  among  his  cages,  the 
delicate  ear  bent  to  mark  some  special  chime, 
forgot  the  words  of  Ando  Uchida,  other 
wise,  Mr.  S.  Yetan,  of  Chikuzen,  forgot  every 
thing,  indeed,  but  the  beauty  of  the  girlish 
face  near  him. 

He  left  the  house  in  a  dream  more  dense 
104 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

than  the  multitudinous  clamor  of  his  burden. 
"  Alas  !  "  thought  Katsuo,  as  he  stumbled 
along,  unheeding  the  beckoning  hands  of 
mothers,  or  the  arresting  cries  of  children  in 
many  gateways,  "  Had  I  been  born  a  samurai 
of  old,  and  she  an  humble  maiden  !  Even  as 
an  Eta,  an  outcast,  would  I  have  loved  and 
sought  her.  Now  in  this  life  I  am  doomed  to 
catch  insects  and  to  sell  them.  Perhaps  in 
my  coming  rebirth,  if  I  am  honest  and  do  not 
tell  to  the  ignorant  that  a  common  mimi  is  a 

silver-voiced    hataorimushi,  -  -  perhaps ' 

Ando's  third  envoy  was  chosen  with  more 
thoughtful  care.  This  time  it  was  none  other 
than  a  young  priest  from  the  temple  of  Fudo- 
Bosatsu  in  Meguro.  He  was  an  acolyte  sent 
forth  with  bowl  and  staff  to  beg  for  aid  in 
certain  temple  repairs.  Ando  promised  a 
generous  donation  in  return  for  information 
concerning  the  Kano  family.  Being  assured 
that  the  motive  for  this  curiosity  was  benevo 
lent  rather  than  mischievous,  the  priest  con 
sented  to  make  the  attempt.  He  reached 

105 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

the  Kano  gate  at  noon,  within  a  few  days 
after  Tatsu's  arrival.  Mata  opened  to  his 
call.  Being  herself  a  Protestant,  opposed  to 
the  ancient  orders  and  their  methods,  she  gave 
him  but  a  chilly  welcome.  Her  interest  was 
aroused,  however,  in  spite  of  herself,  by  the  fact 
that  he  neither  chanted  his  refrain  of  suppli 
cation  nor  extended  the  round  wooden  bowl. 

"  I  shall  not  entreat  alms  of  money  in  this 
place,"  he  said,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  look  of 
surprise,  "  I  am  weary,  and  ask  but  to  rest  for 
a  while  in  the  pleasant  shade  of  your  roof." 

Without  waiting  for  Mata's  rejoinder, 
Ume-ko,  who  had  heard  the  words  of  the 
priest,  now  came  swiftly  to  the  veranda. 
"  Our  home  is  honored,  holy  youth,  by  your 
coming,"  she  said  to  him.  "  Enter  now,  I 
pray,  into  the  main  guest-room,  where  I  and 
my  father  may  serve  you." 

The  priest  refused  this  homage  (much  to 
Mata's  inward  satisfaction),  saying  that  he  de 
sired  only  the  stone  ledge  of  the  kitchen  en 
trance  and  a  cup  of  cold  water. 
106 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

After  his  first  swift  upward  look  he  dared 
not  raise  his  eyes  again.  The  sweetness  of 
her  young  voice  thrilled  and  troubled  him. 
But  for  his  promise  to  Uchida  he  would  have 
fled  at  once,  as  from  temptation.  Ume-ko, 
seeing  his  embarrassment,  withdrew,  but  not 
until  she  had  made  an  imperious  gesture  to 
old  Mat  a,  commanding  her  to  serve  him  with 
rice  and  tea. 

After  a  short  struggle  with  himself  the 
priest  decided  to  accept  the  offer  of  food. 
Old  Mata,  he  knew,  was  to  be  his  source  of 
information.  The  old  dame  served  him  in 
conscious  silence.  Her  lips  were  compressed 
to  wrinkled  metal.  The  visitor,  more  accus 
tomed  to  old  women  than  to  young,  smiled 
at  the  rigid  countenance,  knowing  that  a 
loquacity  requiring  so  obvious  a  latch  is  the 
more  easily  freed.  He  planned  his  first  ques 
tion  with  some  care. 

"  Is  this  not  the  home  of  an  artist,  Kano 
by  name  ? " 

Mata  tossed  her  gray  hair.  "  Of  the  only 
107 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Kano,"  she  replied,  and  shut  her  lips  with  a 
snap. 

"  The  only  Kano,  the  only  Kano,  "  mused 
the  acolyte  over  his  tea. 

"  So  I  said,  young  sir.  Is  it  that  your 
hearing  is  honorably  non-existent  ?  " 

"  Then  I  presume  he  is  without  a  son," 
said  the  priest  as  if  to  himself,  and  stirred  the 
surmise  into  his  rice  with  the  two  long  wooden 
chopsticks  Mata  had  provided. 

The  old  dame's  muscles  worked,  but  she 
kept  silence. 

Ume-ko,  now  in  her  little  chamber  across  *• 
the  narrow  passage,  with  a  bit  of  bright- 
colored  sewing  on  her  knees,  could  hear  each 
word  of  the  dialogue.  Mata's  shrill  voice 
and  the  priest's  deep  tones  each  carried  well. 
The  girl  smiled  to  herself,  realizing  as  she  did 
the  conflict  between  love  of  gossip  and  dis 
approval  of  Shingon  priests  that  now  made  a 
paltry  battlefield  of  the  old  dame's  mind. 
The  former  was  almost  sure  to  win.  The ' 
priest  must  have  thought  this,  too,  for  he 
108 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

finished  his  rice  in  maddening  tranquillity, 
and  then  stirred  slightly  as  if  to  go.  Mata's 
speech  flowed  forth  in  a  torrent. 

"  My  poor  master  has  no  son  indeed,  no 
true  son  of  his  house  ;  but  lately,  —  within 

this  very  week "  She  caught  herself  back 

as  with  a  rein,  snatched  up  the  empty  tea-pot, 
hurried  to  the  kitchen  and  returned  partly 
self-conquered,  if  not  content.  She  told  her 
self  that  she  must  not  gossip  about  the 
master's  affairs  with  a  beggarly  priest.  Deter 
mination  hardened  the  wrinkles  of  her  face. 

If  the  priest  perceived  these  new  signs 
of  taciturnity,  he  ignored  them.  "  Your 
master  being  verily  the  great  artist  that 
you  say,  it  is  a  thing  doubly  to  be  re 
gretted  that  he  is  without  an  heir,"  persisted 
the  visitor,  with  kind,  boyish  eyes  upon  old 
Mata's  face.  The  old  woman  blinked  nerv 
ously  and  began  to  examine  her  fingernails. 
"Alas !  "  sighed  he,  "  I  fear  it  is  because  this 
Mr.  Kano  is  no  true  believer,  that  he  has 
not  prayed  or  made  offerings  to  the  gods." 

109 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Mata  had  a  momentary  convulsion  upon 
the  kitchen  floor,  and  was  still. 

The  priest  kept  gravity  upon  his  mouth, 
but  needed  lowered  lids  to  hide  the  twinkles 
in  his  eyes.  "  True  religion  is  the  greatest 
boon,"  he  droned  sententiously.  "  Would 
that  your  poor  master  had  reached  en 
lightenment  ! " 

Ume-ko  in  her  room  forgot  her  sewing, 
and  leaned  a  delicate  ear  closer  to  the  shoji. 

Old  Mata's  wall  of  reserve  went  down 
with  a  crash.  "  He  believes  as  you  be 
lieve  ! "  she  cried  out  shrilly.  "  All  your 
Shingon  chants  and  invocations  and  miracles 
he  has  faith  in.  Is  that  not  what  you  call 
enlightenment  ?  He  and  Miss  Ume  worship 
together  almost  daily  at  the  great  temple 
above  us  on  the  hill.  The  two  finest  stone 
lanterns  there  are  given  in  the  name  of  my 
master's  dead  young  wife.  Her  ihai  is  in 
this  house,  and  an  altar,  and  they  are  well 
tended,  I  assure  you !  My  master  is  a  true 
believer,  poor  man,  and  what  has  his  belief 
110 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

brought   him  ?     Ma-a-a !   all  this  mummery 
and  service  and  what  has  come  of  it  ? " 

"  I  perceive  with  regret  that  you  are  not 
of  the  Shingon  sect,"  remarked  the  priest. 

"  Me  ?  I  should  say  not !  "  snorted  Mata. 
"  I  am  a  Protestant,  a  good  Shinshu  woman,  — 
that 's  what  I  am,  and  I  tell  you  so  to  your 
face  !  When  I  pray,  I  know  what  I  am 
praying  for.  I  trust  to  my  own  good  deeds 
and  the  intercession  of  Amida  Butsu.  No 
muttering  and  mummery  for  me ! " 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  priest,  a  most  alluring 
note  of  interest  now  audible  in  his  voice, 
"  your  master  has  so  zealously  importuned 
the  gods,  and,  you  say,  with  no  result  ?  " 

"  Ay,  a  result  has  come,"  answered  the  old 
dame,  sullenly.  "  Within  this  week  the  gods 
—  or  the  demons  —  have  heard  my  master, 
for  a  wild  thing  from  the  hills  is  with  us !  " 

"  Wild  thing  ?     Do  you  mean  a  man  ? " 

"  A  semblance  of  a  man,  though  none 
such  will  you  see  in  the  streets  of  a  respect 
able  town." 

Ill 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  But  does  your  master "  began  the 

priest,  in  some  perplexity. 

Mata  cut  him  short.  "  Because  he  can 
smear  ink  on  paper  with  a  brush,  my  master 
dotes  on  him  and  says  he  will  adopt  him ! " 

The  woman's  fierce  sincerity  transmitted 
vague  alarm.  Slipping  his  hands  within  his 
gray  sleeves,  the  acolyte  began  fingering  his 
short  rosary  as  he  asked,  "Is  the  —  wild  man 
now  under  this  very  roof  ?  " 

"  Not  under  a  roof  when  he  can  escape  it, 
you  may  be  sure  1  He  comes  to  us  only 
when  driven  by  hunger  of  the  stomach  or 
the  eyes.  Doubtless  at  this  moment  he  wal 
lows  among  the  ferns  and  sa-sa  grass  of  the 
mountain  side,  or  lies  face  down  in  the  ceme 
tery  near  my  mistress'  grave.  He  is  mad, 
my  master  is  mad,  and  Miss  Ume,  if  she 
really  gives  herself  in  marriage  to  the  moun 
tain  lion,  madder  than  all  the  rest ! " 

"  That  beautiful  maiden  whom  I  saw  will 
be  given  to  such  a  one  ? "  asked  the  priest, 
in  a  startled  way. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Such  are  the  present  plans,"  said  the  other 
in  deep  despair,  and  huddled  herself  together 
on  the  floor. 

Ume-ko,  in  her  room  across  the  hallway, 
had  half  risen.  It  really  was  time  to  check 
the  old  servant's ,  vulgar  garrulity.  But  the 
silence  that  followed  the  last  remark  checked 
her  impulse.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter  ? 
No  one  could  understand  or  needed  to 
understand. 

Meanwhile  Mata,  at  first  unconscious  of 
anything  but  her  own  dark  thoughts,  be 
came  gradually  aware  of  a  strange  look  in 
the  face  of  the  priest.  He,  on  his  part,  was 
wondering  whether,  indeed,  the  beauty  of 
Ume-ko  were  not  the  sole  cause  of  his 
patron's  interest  in  the  Kano  family.  After 
watching  him  intently  for  a  few  moments 
the  old  woman  wriggled  nearer  and  whis 
pered  in  a  tone  so  low  that  Ume  could  not 
catch  the  words,  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  Sir 
Priest,  you,  being  of  their  belief,  perceive 
this  to  be  a  case  where  charms  and  spells 

8  113 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

are  advisable.  I  am  convinced  that  this 
house  is  bewitched,  that  the  Dragon  Painter 
has  a  train  of  elementals  in  attendance. 
Now,  if  we  could  only  drive  him  forever 
from  the  place.  Have  you,  by  any  chance, 
a  powder,  or  an  amulet,  or  a  magic  invocation 
you  could  give  me  ? " 

"  No,  no  !  I  dare  not ! "  said  the  other, 
in  an  agitated  voice.  He  reached  out  for 
his  bowl  and,  with  a  single  leap,  was  down 
upon  the  earth.  Mata  caught  him  by  his 
flying  skirts.  "  See  here,"  she  entreated,  "  I 
will  make  it  worth  your  while,  young  sir, 
I  will  give  donations  to  your  temple  — 

"  I  dare  not.  I  have  no  instructions  to 
meddle  with  such  things.  Let  me  now  give 
the  house  a  blessing,  and  withdraw.  But  I 
can  tell  you  for  your  comfort,"  he  added, 
seeing  the  disappointment  in  her  wrinkled 
face,  "if,  as  you  assure  me,  this  is  a  house 
of  faith,  no  presence  entirely  evil  could  dwell 
within  it." 

He  got  away  before  she  could  repeat  her 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

importunities ;  and  the  old  dame  returned 
to  the  kitchen,  muttering  anathemas  against 
the  mystic  powers  she  had  just  attempted 
to  invoke. 

On  the  priest's  return,  Ando  questioned 
him  eagerly.  He  gained,  almost  with  the 
first  words,  certainty  of  his  own  freedom. 
With  Tatsu  safely  arrived,  and  the  betrothal 
to  Kano  Ume-ko  an  outspoken  affair,  then 
had  the  time  come  for  him  —  Ando  Uchida 
— to  reassume  the  pleasant  role  of  friend 
and  benefactor. 

He  moved  into  Yeddo  before  nightfall. 
His  first  visit  was,  of  course,  to  Kano. 
Elaborately  he  explained  to  the  sympa 
thetic  old  man  how  he  had  been  summoned 
by  telegram  into  a  distant  province  to  at 
tend  the  supposed  death-bed  of  a  relative, 
how  that  relative  had,  by  a  miracle,  recov 
ered.  "  So  now,"  he  remarked  in  conclusion, 
"  I  am  again  at  your  service,  and  shall  take 
the  part  not  only  of  nakodo  in  the  coming 

115 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

marriage,  but  of  temporary  father  and  social 
sponsor  to  our  unsophisticated  bridegroom." 

Certainly  nothing  could  have  been  more 
opportune  than  Uchida's  reappearance,  or 
more  welcome  than  his  proposed  assistance. 
Mata,  indeed,  hastened  to  give  a  whole  koku 
of  rice  to  the  poor  in  thank-offering  that  one 
sensible  person  besides  herself  was  now  im 
plicated  in  the  wedding  preparations. 

Uchida  justified,  many  times  over,  her 
belief  in  him.  In  the  district  near  the  Kano 
home  he  rented,  in  Tatsu's  name,  a  small 
cottage,  paying  for  it  by  the  month,  in 
advance.  With  Mata's  assistance,  not  to 
mention  a  small  colony  of  hirelings,  the 
floors  were  fitted  with  new  mats,  the  wood 
work  of  the  walls,  the  posts,  and  veranda 
floors  polished  to  a  mirror-like  brightness, 
and  even  the  tiny  garden  set  with  new  turf 
and  flowering  plants.  Tatsu  was  lured  down 
from  the  mountain  side  and  persuaded  to  re 
main  at  night  and  part,  at  least,  of  each  day, 
in  this  little  haven  of  coming  joy. 
116 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

A  secluded  room  was  fitted  up  as  a  studio, 
for  his  sole  use.  Here  were  great  rectangles 
of  paper,  rolls  of  thin  silk,  stretching  frames, 
water  holders,  multitudinous  brushes,  and  all 
the  exquisite  pigment  that  Japanese  love  of 
beauty  has  drawn  from  water,  earth,  and  air ; 
delicate  infusions  of  sea-moss,  roots,  and 
leaves,  saucers  of  warm  earth  ground  to  a 
paste,  precious  vessels  of  powdered  malachite, 
porphyry,  and  lapis  lazuli.  But  the  boy 
looked  askance  upon  the  expensive  outlay. 
His  wild  nature  resented  so  obvious  a  lure. 
It  seemed  unworthy  of  a  Dragon  Painter  to 
accept  this  multitude  of  material  devices. 
He  had  painted  on  flakes  of  inner  bark,  still 
quivering  with  the  life  from  which  he  had 
rudely  torn  them.  Visions  limned  on  rock 
and  sand  had  been  the  more  precious  for 
their  impermanence.  Here,  every  stroke  was 
to  be  recorded,  each  passing  whim  and  mood 
registered,  as  in  a  book  of  fate. 

For  days  the  little  workroom  remained 
immaculate.  Kano  began  to  fret.  Ando 

117 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Uchida,  the  wise,  said,  "  Wait."  It  was 
Mata  who  finally  precipitated  the  crisis.  One 
rainy  morning,  being  already  in  an  ill  humor 
over  some  trifling  household  affair,  she  was 
startled  and  annoyed  by  the  sudden  vision 
of  Tatsu's  head  thrust  noiselessly  into  her 
kitchen.  Rudely  she  had  slammed  the  shoji 
together,  calling  out  to  him  that  he  had 
better  be  off  doing  the  one  thing  he  was 
fit  to  do,  rather  than  to  be  skulking  around 
her  special  domain.  Tatsu  had,  as  rudely, 
reopened  the  shoji  panels,  tearing  a  large 
hole  in  the  translucent  paper.  "  He  had 
come  merely  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Dragon 
Maid,"  he  told  the  angry  dame.  "  In  a  few 
days  more  she  was  to  be  his  wife,  and 
this  maddening  convention  of  keeping  him 
always  from  her  was  eating  out  his  vitals 
with  red  fire,"  so  declared  Tatsu,  and  let 
the  consuming  passion  blaze  in  his  sunken 
eyes. 

But  Mata,  undismayed,  stood  up  in  scorn 
ful   silence.     She  was   gathering  herself  to- 
118 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

gether  like  a  storm,  and  in  an  instant  more 
had  hurled  upon  him  the  full  terror  of  her 
vocabulary.  She  called  him  a  barbarian,  a 
mountain  goat,  —  a  Tengu,  —  better  mated 
to  a  fox  spirit  or  a  she-demon  than  to  a 
decent  girl  like  her  young  mistress.  She 
denounced  her  erstwhile  beloved  master  as  a 
blind  old  dotard,  and  the  idolized  time,  she 
declared  a  weak  and  yielding  idiot.  Tatsu's 
attempts  at  retort  were  swept  away  with  a 
hiss.  For  a  while  he  raged  like  a  flame  upon 
the  doorstep,  but  he  was  no  match  for  his 
vigorous  opponent.  It  was  something  to 
realize  his  own  defeat.  Gasping,  he  turned 
to  the  friendly  rain  and  would  have  darted 
from  the  gate  when,  with  a  swoop  like  a  fal 
con,  Mata  was  bodily  upon  him.  He  threw 
his  right  arm  upward  as  if  to  escape  a  blow, 
but  the  old  dame  did  not  belabor  him.  She 
was  trying  to  thrust  something  hard  and 
strange  into  his  other  hand.  He  glanced 
toward  it.  The  last  indignity  of  an  um 
brella !  "Open  it,  madman!"  she  cried 
119 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

shrilly  after  him,  "  and  hold  your  robe  up ; 
it  is  one  of  your  new  silk  ones  1" 

Tatsu  had  never  used  an  umbrella  in  his 
life.  Now  he  opened  it  eagerly.  Anything 
to  escape  that  frightful  voice !  In  the  windy 
street  he  clutched  at  his  fluttering  skirts  as 
he  had  seen  other  men  do,  and,  with  a  last 
terrified  backward  glance,  ran  breathlessly 
toward  the  haven  of  his  temporary  home. 

The  little  house  was  empty.  Tatsu  was 
thankful  for  so  much.  The  rooms  were 
already  pre-haunted  by  dreams  of  Ume-ko. 
Tatsu  felt  the  peace  of  it  sink  deep  into 
his  soul.  Instinctively  his  wandering  feet 
led  him  into  the  little  painting  room.  As 
usual,  the  elaborate  display  of  artist  materials 
chilled  him.  After  his  recent  exasperation 
he  longed  to  ease  his  heart  of  a  sketch,  but 
obstinacy  held  him  back.  He  sat  down  in 
the  centre  of  the  space.  A  bevy  of  small, 
squeaking  sounds  seemed  to  enclose  him. 
It  took  him  some  moments  to  recognize 
them  as  the  irritating  rustling  of  his  silken 
120 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

dress.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  tore  off  the 
new  and  expensive  girdle  of  brocade,  flung 
it  into  one  corner  and  the  offending  robe  into 
another,  and  remained  standing  in  the  centre 
of  the  small  space  clad  only  in  his  short 
white  linen  under-robe. 

He  looked  about,  now,  for  a  more  con 
genial  sheathing.  If  he  could  but  find 
the  tattered  blue  kimono  worn  during  that 
upward  journey  from  Kiu  Shiu  !  Stained  by 
berries  and  green  leaves,  torn  by  a  thousand 
graceful  vines,  —  for  laundering  only  a  few 
vigorous  swirls  in  a  running  stream  with  a 
quick  sun-drying  on  the  river  stones,  —  yet 
how  comfortable,  how  companionable  it  was ! 
There  had  been  a  blue  something  folded  on 
the  shelf  of  his  closet.  He  found  it,  opened 
it  wide  in  the  air  and  would  have  uttered  a 
cry  of  joy  but  for  the  changed  look  of  it. 
Even  this  had  not  escaped  Mata's  desecra 
ting  hands!  It  was  mended  everywhere. 
The  white  darning  threads  grinned  at  him 
like  teeth.  Also  it  was  washed  and  ironed, 

121 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  smelled  of  foreign  soap.  For  an  instant 
he  tore  at  it  angrily,  and  was  minded  to  de 
stroy  it,  but  the  sense  of  familiarity  held  him. 
He  wrapped  it  about  him  slowly  and,  with 
bent  head,  again  seated  himself  upon  the  floor. 
The  rain  now  fell  in  quivering  wires  of 
dull  light.  The  world  was  strung  with  them 
like  a  harp,  and  upon  them  the  wind  played 
a  monotonous  refrain.  Against  the  wall  near 
Tatsu  stood  a  light  framework  of  wood  with 
the  silk  already  stretched  and  dried  for  paint 
ing.  At  his  other  hand  a  brush  slanted  side- 
wise  from  a  bowl  of  liquid  ink.  The  boy's 
pulses  leaped  toward  these  things  even  while 
his  lips  curled  in  disdain  at  the  shallow 
decoy.  "  So  they  expect  to  trap  me,  these 
geese  and  jailers  who  have  temporary  dom 
inance  over  my  life,"  thought  he,  in  scorn. 
No,  even  though  he  now  desired  it  of  him 
self,  he  would  not  paint!  Let  him  but  gain 
his  bride  —  then  nothing  should  have  power 
to  sting  or  fret  him.  But,  oh,  these  endless 
days  and  hours  of  waiting !  They  corroded 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

his  very  thought  as  acid  corrodes  new  metal. 
He  felt  the  eating  of  it  now. 

A  spasm  of  pain  and  anger  distorted  his 
face.  He  gave  a  cry,  caught  up  suddenly 
the  thick  hake  brush,  and  hurled  it  across  the 
room  toward  the  upright  frame  of  silk.  It 
struck  the  surface  midway,  a  little  to  the 
left ;  pressed  and  worked  against  it  as  though 
held  by  a  ghost,  and  then,  falling,  dragged 
lessening  echoes  of  stain. 

Tatsu's  mirthless  laugh  rang  out  against 
the  sound  of  dripping  rain.  The  childish 
outburst  had  been  of  some  relief.  He  looked 
defiantly  toward  the  white  rectangle  he  had 
just  defaced.  Defaced  ?  The  boy  caught  in  his 
breath.  He  thrust  his  head  forward,  leaning  on 
one  hand  to  stare.  That  bold  and  unpremedi 
tated  stroke  had  become  a  shadowed  peak ;  the 
trailing  marks  of  ink  a  splendid  slope.  Had 
he  not  seen  just  such  a  one  in  Kiu  Shiu, — had 
he  not  scaled  it,  crying  aloud  upon  its  sum 
mit  to  the  gods  to  yield  him  there  his  bride  ? 

Trembling  now,  and  weak,  he  crawled  on 
123 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

hands  and  knees  toward  the  frame.  He  had 
forgotten  Kano,  Uchida,  Mata,  —  forgotten 
even  Ume-ko.  Fingers  not  his  own  lifted 
the  fallen  brush.  The  wonderful  cold  wind 
of  a  dawning  frenzy  swept  clean  his  soul. 
He  shivered ;  then  a  sirocco  of  fire  followed 
the  void  of  the  wind.  The  spot  where  his 
random  blow  had  struck  still  gleamed  tran 
sparent  jet.  He  dragged  the  blackened 
brush  through  a  vessel  of  clear  water,  then 
brandished  it  like  the  madman  Mata  thought 
him.  With  the  soft  tuft  of  camel  hair  he 
blurred  against  the  peak  pale,  luminous  vapor 
of  new  cloud.  Turning,  twisting  sidewise, 
this  way,  then  that,  the  yielding  implement, 
he  seemed  to  carve  upon  the  silk  broad  silver 
planes  of  rock,  until  there  rose  up  a  self- 
revealing  vision,  the  granite  cliff  from  which 
a  thin,  white  waterfall  leaps  out. 

But  this  one  swift  achievement  only  whet 
ted  the  famished  appetite  to  more  creative 
ardor.  Sketch  after  sketch  he  made,  some  to 
tear  at  once  into  strips,  others  to  fling  care- 


With  the  soft  tuft  of  camel  hair  he  blurred  against  the  peak  pale, 
luminous  vapor  of  new  cloud."     J ''u</<-  1-24. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

lessly  aside  to  any  corner  where  they  might 
chance  to  fall,  others,  again,  to  be  stored  cun 
ningly  upon  some  remote  shelf  to  which  old 
Kano  and  Uchida  and  Mata  could  not  reach, 
but  whence  he,  Tatsu,  the  Dragon  Painter, 
should,  in  a  few  days  more,  withdraw  them 
and  show  them  to  his  bride.  The  purple  dusk 
brimmed  his  tiny  garden,  and  yet  he  could 
not  stop.  Art  had  seized  him  by  the  throat, 
and  shook  him,  as  a  prey.  Uchida,  peering 
at  him  from  between  the  fusuma,  perceived 
the  glory  and  turned  away  in  silence  ;  nor  for 
that  day  nor  the  next  would  he  allow  any  one 
to  approach  the  frenzied  boy.  The  elder  man 
had,  himself  in  youth,  fared  along  the  valleys 
of  art,  and  knew  the  signals  on  the  peaks. 

Tatsu,  unconscious  that  the  house  was  not 
still  empty,  painted  on.  Sometimes  he  sobbed. 
Again  an  ague  of  beauty  caught  him,  and  he 
needed  to  hurl  himself  full  length  upon  the 
mats  until  the  ecstacy  was  past.  Just  as  the 
daylight  went  he  saw,  upon  the  one  great 
glimmering  square  of  silk  as  yet  immaculate, 

125 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

a  dream  of  Ume-ko,  the  Dragon  Maiden,  who 
had  danced  before  him.  This  was  an  appari 
tion  too  holy  to  be  limned  in  artificial  light. 
When  the  sun  came,  next  day,  he  knew  well 
what  there  was  for  him  to  do.  He  placed  the 
frame  upright,  where  the  first  pink  beam  would 
find  it.  Brushes,  water  vessels,  and  paints  were 
placed  in  readiness,  with  such  neatness  and 
precision  that  old  Kano's  heart  would  have 
laughed  in  pleasure.  That  night  the  shoji  and 
amado  were  not  closed.  Tatsu  did  not  sleep. 
It  was  a  night  of  consecration.  He  walked 
up  and  down,  sometimes  in  the  narrow  room, 
sometimes  in  the  garden.  Often  he  prayed. 
Again  he  sat  in  the  soft  darkness,  before  the 
ghostly  glimmer  of  the  silk,  tracing  upon  it 
visions  of  ethereal  light.  When,  at  last,  the 
dawn  came  in,  Tatsu  bowed  to  the  east,  with 
his  usual  prayer  of  thankful  piety,  then,  with 
the  exaltation  still  upon  him,  lifted  the  silver 
thread  of  a  brush  and  drew  his  first  conscious 
outline  of  the  woman  soon  to  be  his  wife. 


126 


"  He  walked  up  and  down,  sometimes  in  the  narrow  room,  sometimes 
in  the  garden."     Paye  12<>. 


VI 

THROUGH     all    these     busy    days 
Ume-ko  moved  as  one  but  little  in 
terested.     Kano  and  Uchida  noticed 
nothing  unusual.     To  them  she  was  merely 
the   conventional    nonenity    of    maidenhood 
that  Japanese  etiquette  demanded.     It  never 
entered  their  heads  that  she  would  not  have 
agreed    with    equal   readiness    to   any   other 
husband  of  their  choosing. 

Mata  knew  her  idol  and  nursling  better. 
Hints  of  character  and  of  deep-sea  passion 
had  risen  now  and  again  to  the  surface  of  the 
girl's  placid  life.  There  were  currents  under 
neath  that  the  father  did  not  suspect,  Once, 
during  her  childhood,  a  pet  bird  had  been  in 
jured  in  a  fit  of  anger  by  old  Kano.  Ume- 
ko,  with  her  ashen  face  under  perfect  control, 
had  killed  the  suffering  creature  and  carried 
127 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

it,  wrapped  in  white  paper,  to  her  own  room. 
The  father,  ashamed  now,  and  filled  with  gen 
uine  remorse,  had  stormed  up  and  down  the 
garden  paths,  reviling  himself  for  an  impatient 
ogre,  and  promising  more  restraint  in  future. 
Mata,  silent  for  once,  had  crept  to  her  child- 
mistress'  close-shut  walls,  heard  the  last  sob 
bing  words  of  a  Buddhist  prayer  for  the  dead, 
and  burst  through  the  shoji  in  scant  time  to 
catch  back  the  stroke  of  a  dagger  from  the 
girl's  slim,  upraised  throat.  Her  terrified 
screams  summoned  Kano  and  the  neighbors 
as  well.  A  priest  hurried  down  from  the 
temple  on  the  hill.  In  time  the  culprit  was 
reduced  to  a  condition  of  tearful  penitence, 
and  gave  her  promise  never  again  to  attempt 
so  cowardly  and  wicked  a  thing  as  self- 
destruction,  unless  it  were  for  some  noble 
and  impersonal  end. 

The    good    old    priest,    to    comfort    her, 
chanted  a  sutra  over  the  bier  of  her  lost  play 
mate,  and  bestowed  upon  it  a  high-sounding 
Buddhist  kaimyo  which  Kano  carved,  in  his 
128 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

finest  manner,  upon  a  wooden  grave  post. 
In  time,  the  artist  forgot  the  episode.  Mata 
never  forgot.  Often  in  the  long  hours  she 
thought  of  it  now  as  she  watched  the  girl's 
face  bent  always  so  silently  above  the  bridal 
sewing.  No  impatience  or  regret  were  visible 
in  her.  Yet,  thought  Mata,  surely  no  maiden 
in  her  senses  could  really  wish  to  become  the 
wife  of  an  ill-mannered,  untamed  mountain 
sprite !  Could  Death  be  the  secret  of  this 
pale  tranquillity  ?  Was  Ume-ko  to  cheat 
them  all,  at  the  last,  by  self-destruction  ? 

In  such  wise  did  the  old  servant  fret  and 
ponder,  but  no  assurance  came.  A  true  in 
sight  into  art  might  have  opened  many  doors 
to  her.  Yet,  through  a  life  devoted  to  the 
externals  of  it,  Mata  had  been  tolerant  of 
beauty,  rather  than  at  one  with  it.  The  im 
practical  view  of  life  which  art  seemed  to  de 
mand  of  its  devotees  was  enough  to  arouse 
suspicion,  if  not  her  actual  dislike.  Uchida 
was  a  hero  because  he  had  been  bold  enough 
to  shake  himself  free  from  lethargic  influ- 

9  129 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ences,  and  achieve  a  shining  and  substantial 
success. 

But  even  had  the  key  of  art  been  thrust 
into  the  old  dame's  groping  hand,  and  even 
had  her  master  guided  her,  there  was  an  inner 
chamber  of  Ume's  heart  which  they  could  not 
have  found.  Ume  herself  had  not  known  of 
it  until  that  first  instant  when,  now  three 
weeks  ago,  a  strange  young  face,  hung  about 
with  shadows,  had  peered  into  her  father's 
gate.  With  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  she 
had  entered  in,  had  knelt  before  a  shrine 
whereon,  wrapped  in  fire,  a  Secret  lay.  Ever 
since  she  had  needed  to  guard  that  shrine, 
not,  indeed,  for  fear  that  the  light  would  fal 
ter,  but  rather  that  it  might  not  leap  up,  and 
lay  waste  her  being.  As  one  guards  a  flame, 
so  Ume-ko,  with  silence  and  prayer  and  self- 
enforced  tranquillity,  guarded  the  sacred  spark 
from  winds  of  passion.  Each  day  at  dawn, 
and  again  at  twilight  of  each  day,  it  flamed 
high  and  was  hard  to  conquer,  for  with  dawn 
a  letter  was  hers  —  held  in  the  night-wet 

130 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

branches  of  her  dragon-plum,  and  each  night 
when  Mata  and  her  father  thought  her  sleep 
ing,  an  answer  was  written,  and  committed  to 
the  keeping  of  the  tree. 

When  Tatsu  did  not  paint,  or  rest  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  he  was  writing.  Ume, 
bending  above  his  words,  shivering  at  times, 
or  weeping,  marvelled  that  the  tissue  had  not 
charred  beneath  the  thoughts  burned  into  it. 
Tatsu's  phrases  were  like  his  paintings,  un 
usual,  vital,  almost  demoniac  in  force,  shot 
through  and  through  at  times  with  the  bolt 
of  an  almost  unbearable  beauty.  Her  own 
words  answered  his,  as  the  tree-tops  answer 
storm,  with  music.  Verse  alone  could  ease 
the  girl  of  her  ecstacy,  and  each  recorded 
and  triumphed  in  the  demolition  of  yet 
another  day.  "  Another  stone,  beloved,  thrust 
down  from  the  dungeon  wall  that  severs  us  ! " 

Swiftly  the  heap  of  wedding  garments 
grew.  There  were  delicate  kimonos,  as  thin 
and  gray  as  mist,  with  sunset-colored  inner 
robes  of  silk ;  gowns  of  linen  and  cotton 

131 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

for  indoor  wear ;  bath  and  sleeping  robes 
with  great  designs  of  flowers,  birds,  or  land 
scapes  ;  silken  bed-quilts  and  bright  floor 
cushions ;  great  sashes  crusted  like  bark 
with  patternings  of  gold  ;  dainty  toilet  acces 
sories  of  hairpins,  girdles,  collarettes,  shop 
ping-bags,  purses,  jewel-cases,  —  and  new 
sandals  of  various  sorts,  each  with  velvet 
thongs  of  some  delicate  hue. 

The  sewing  was,  of  course,  done  at  home. 
Mata  would  have  trusted  this  sacred  rite  to 
no  domination  but  her  own.  She  worked 
incessantly,  planning,  cutting,  scolding,  — 
hurrying  off  to  the  shopping  district  for 
some  forgotten  item,  conferring  with  Ando 
Uchida  about  the  details  of  Tatsu's  outfit, 
then  returning,  flushed  with  success  and  im 
portance,  to  new  home  triumphs. 

Ume  sewed  steadily  all  day.  Her  painting 
materials  had  been  put  meekly  aside,  and,  as 
a  further  precaution  at  old  Mata's  hands, 
hidden  under  the  kitchen  flooring.  Toward 
the  last  it  was  found  necessary  to  employ  an 

132 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

assistant,  a  seamstress,  known  of  old  to  Mata. 
Her  companionship,  as  well  as  her  sewing, 
proved  a  boon.  Seated  upon  the  springy 
matting,  with  waves  of  shimmering  silk  tu 
multuous  about  them,  the  old  dames  chatted 
incessantly  of  other  brides  and  other  wed 
ding  outfits  they  had  known.  Marvellous 
were  their  tales  of  married  life,  some  of  them 
designed  to  cheer,  others  to  warn  the  silent 
little  third  figure,  that  of  the  bride-to-be. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ume  never  listened. 
The  noise  and  buzz  of  incessant  conversation 
affected  her  pleasantly,  but  remotely,  as  the 
chatter  of  distant  sparrows.  The  girl  had 
too  much  within  herself  to  think  of. 

"  May  Kwannon  have  mercy  upon  my 
young  mistress,"  sighed  the  nurse,  one  day, 
as  Ume  left  the  room. 

"  Does  she  require  mercy  ?  I  thought  — 
she  appears  to  me  honorably  —  er  —  undis 
turbed,"  ventured  the  seamstress,  with  one 
swift  upward  look  of  interest. 

"  Yes,  she  appears,  —  many  of  us  appear, 
133 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

-but  can  she  be  happy?  That  is  what  I 
wish  to  know.  The  creature  she  is  being 
forced  to  marry  is  more  like  a  mountain-lion 
than  a  man  !  " 

"  Ma-a-a !  Is  he  dangerous  ?  Will  he 
bite  her  ? "  questioned  the  other,  hopefully. 

"  Amida  alone  knows  what  he  will  do  with 
her,"  croaked  Mata,  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 

The  subject  was  one  not  to  be  readily  re 
linquished.  "  The  facts  being  honorably  as  you 
relate,"  began  the  hired  seamstress,  her  needle 
held  carefully  against  the  light  for  threading, 
"  how  is  it  that  the  august  father  of  the  illus 
trious  young  lady  permits  such  a  marriage  ? " 

Mata's  eyes  gleamed  sharp  and  bright  as 
the  needle.  "  Because  he  is  as  mad  as  the 
wild  man,  and  all  for  pictures  !  They  would 
strip  their  own  skins  off  if  that  made  better 
parchment.  Miss  Ume  has  been  influenced 
by  them,  and  now  is  to  be  sacrificed.  Alas  ! 
the  evil  day  1 "  and  Mata  wiped  away  some 
genuine  tears  on  the  hem  of  a  night-robe 
she  had  finished. 

134. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"O  kinodoku  Sama,  my  spirit  is  poisoned 
by  your  grief, "  murmured  the  other,  sympa 
thetically.  "  Yet,  in  your  place,  I  should 
find  great  comfort  in  the  outfit  of  your 
mistress.  Never,  even  in  the  sewing  halls  of 
princes,  could  more  beautiful  silks  be  gath 
ered."  She  looked  about  slowly,  with  the  air 
of  a  professional  who  sees  something  really 
worthy  of  regard. 

Mata's  face  cleared.  "  Since  the  gods 
allow  it,  I  should  not  complain,"  she  ad 
mitted.  "  Indeed,  Mr.  Uchida  and  1  are 
doing  well  by  the  young  couple  in  the  mat 
ter  of  silks  and  house  furnishings.  And  — 
whisper  this  not  —  no  one  but  he  and  I 
dream  from  what  source  these  splendid  fab 
rics  come ! " 

Mata  had  thrust  a  poisoned  arrow  of  curi 
osity  into  her  listener,  and  knew  it.  Some 
day,  perhaps  the  very  day  before  the  wed 
ding,  she  might  reveal  it.  For  the  present, 
as  she  said,  no  one  but  herself  and  Uchida 
knew. 

135 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

More  than  once  during  sewing  hours, 
Ume-ko  herself  had  wondered  how  her  father 
was  able  to  give  her  silks  of  such  beauty  and 
variety.  With  the  unthrift  of  the  true 
artist,  Kano  was  always  poor.  The  old  man 
would  have  been  as  surprised  and  far  angrier 
than  his  daughter,  had  he  known  that  Tatsu's 
pictures,  stolen  craftily  by  the  confederates, 
Uchida  and  Mata,  and  sold  in  Yokohama  for 
about  a  tenth  of  their  true  value,  were  the 
source  of  this  sudden  affluence.  Tatsu  re 
mained  ignorant,  also.  But,  provided  they 
took  no  image  of  Ume's  face,  he  would  not 
have  cared  at  all.  New  garments,  new  mats, 
dainty  household  furnishings,  were  showered 
upon  him,  too ;  but  they  might  have  been 
autumn  leaves,  for  all  the  interest  he  showed. 

To  gain  his  Dragon  Maid,  —  to  know  that 
in  this  life  she  was  irrevocably  his,  —  that 
was  Tatsu's  one  conscious  thought. 

The  wedding  day  came  at  last.     Ume-ko 
had  written  no  letter  on  the  eve  of  it,  but  all 
night  long  she  felt   that  he  was   near  her, 
136 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

leaning  on  the  breast  of  the  plum  tree,  scal 
ing  the  steeps  above  her,  wandering,  a  rest 
less  ghost  of  joy,  about  the  moon-silvered 
cemetery,  speaking  perhaps,  as  equal,  to  his 
primeval  gods.  So  close,  already  were  these 
two,  that  even  in  absence,  each  felt  always 
something  of  the  other's  mood.  It  was  a 
sleepless  night  to  the  girl,  also.  She  cowered 
close  about  the  Secret,  until  its  fierce  light 
scorched  her.  She  pressed  down  her  lids 
with  strong,  white  fingers,  but  the  glory 
streamed  through.  So,  tortured  by  intoler 
able  bliss,  she  suffered,  until  the  dawn  came 
in. 

Quite  early  in  the  day  the  bride's  trous 
seau  and  gifts  were  sent  to  Tatsu's  home. 
They  made  a  train  that  filled  the  neighbors' 
eyes  with  wonder  and  Mata's  swelling  heart 
with  pride.  There  were  lacquered  chests  and 
cases  of  drawers,  all  filled  with  clothing. 
Each  great  square  package  was  covered  with 
a  decorated  cloth,  and  swung  from  a  gilded 
staff  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  two  stout 

137 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

coolies.  There  were  boxes  of  cakes,  fruit, 
and  eggs ;  and  jinrikishas  piled  with  a  med 
ley  of  gifts.  Even  Kano  was  impressed. 
Uchida  rubbed  his  two  fat  hands  together 
and  laughed  at  everything.  Ume-ko,  watch 
ing  the  moving  shadows  pass  under  her 
father's  gate-roof,  closed  her  eyes  quickly 
and  caught  her  breath.  The  next  gift  from 
the  Kano  home  was  to  be  herself. 

By  this  time  autumn  was  upon  the  year. 
A  few  early  chrysanthemums  opened  small 
golden  suns  in  the  garden.  Dodan  bushes 
and  maples  hinted  at  a  crimson  splendor  soon 
to  follow.  The  icho  trees  stood  like  pyramids 
of  gold  ;  and  suzuki  grass  upon  the  hillsides 
brushed  a  cloudless  blue  sky  with  silken 
fingers.  In  the  garden,  autumn  insects  sang. 
Ume-ko's  kirigirisu  which,  some  weeks  before, 
she  had  released  from  its  cage,  had,  as  if  in 
gratitude  made  a  home  among  the  lichens  of 
the  big  plum  tree.  Ume  believed  that  she  al 
ways  knew  its  voice  from  among  the  rest,  no 
matter  how  full  the  chorus  of  silver  chiming. 

138 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

She  had  gone  back  to  her  room,  and  sat  now, 
in  the  centre  of  it,  staring  toward  the  garden. 
Noon  had  crept  upon  it,  devouring  all  shadow. 
Her  eyes  saw  little  but  the  golden  blur.  A 
fusuma  opened  softly,  and  two  women,  Mata 
and  the  attendant  seamstress,  came  mincing 
and  smirking  toward  her,  each  with  an  armful 
of  white  silk.  Ume  rose  like  an  automaton. 
They  began  her  toilet,  talking  the  while  in 
low  voices.  They  robed  her  in  white  with  a 
thin  lining-edge  of  crimson,  and  threw  over 
her  shining  hair  a  veil  of  tissue.  Some  one 
outside  called  that  the  bride's  kuruma  was  at 
the  gate.  Old  Kano  entered  the  room,  smil 
ing.  His  steps  creaked  and  rustled  with  new 
silk.  Ume  turned  for  one  fleeting  glimpse  of 
her  plum  tree.  It  seemed  to  stir  and  wave 
green  leaves  toward  her.  With  head  down- 
bent,  the  girl  followed  her  father  through  the 
house. 

Mata  helped  them  into  the  two  new,  shin 
ing  jinrikishas,  a  dragon-crest  blazoned  on 
the  one  for  Ume's  use.  She  scolded  the 
139 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

kuruma  men  in  her  shrill  voice,  giving  a 
dozen  instructions  in  one  sentence,  and  pre 
tending  anger  at  their  answering  jests.  On 
the  doorstep  stood  the  little  seamstress  ready 
to  cast  a  handful  of  dried  peas.  When  Kano 
and  Ume-ko  were  off,  Mata  scrambled  ex 
citedly  into  her  own  vehicle.  Her  human 
steed,  turning  round  for  an  impudent  and 
good-natured  stare,  drawled  out  an  unprint 
able  remark.  The  seamstress  shrieked 
"sayonara"  and  pelted  space  with  the  peas. 
Afterward  she  ran  on  foot  down  the  slope  of 
the  hill  and  joined  the  smiling  crowd  of 
lookers-on.  Soon  it  was  over.  The  peddler 
picked  up  his  pack,  and  the  children  their 
toys.  Gates  opened  or  slid  aside  in  panels 
to  receive  their  owners.  The  jangling  of 
small  gate-bells  made  the  hillside  merry 
for  an  instant,  then  busy  silence  again  took 
possession. 

No  one  at  all  was  left  in  the  Kano  home. 
The  little  cottage  of  Ume's  birth,  of  her  short, 
happy   life   and   dawning    fame,    drew   itself 
140 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

together  in  the  unusual  silence.  Sunshine 
fell  thick  upon  the  garden,  and  warmed  even 
the  lazy  gold-fish  in  their  pigmy  lake.  In 
the  plum-tree  branch  that  touched  Ume-ko's 
abandoned  chamber,  the  cricket  chirped  softly 
to  himself.  He  knew  the  Secret ! 


VII 

SIX  days  were  gone.  The  marriage  was 
a  thing  accomplished,  yet  old  Kano 
sat,  lean,  dispirited,  drowned  appar 
ently  in  depths  of  fathomless  despair,  in  the 
centre  of  his  corner  room.  Mata,  busy  about 
her  household  tasks,  sometimes  passed  across 
the  matting,  or  flaunted  a  dusting-cloth  within 
a  partly  opened  shoji.  At  such  moments  her 
look  and  gesture  were  eloquent  of  disdain. 
Her  patience,  long  tried  by  the  kindly  irri 
table  master,  was  about  at  an  end.  Surely  a 
spoiled  old  man-child  like  the  crouching  fig 
ure  yonder  would  exhaust  the  forbearance 
of  Jizo  Sama  himself ! 

Six  days  ago  he  had  been  happy,  —  indeed, 

too  happy  !    for  he  and  Uchida  had  drunk 

themselves  into  a  condition  of  giggling  bliss, 

and   had   needed   to   be   taken   away  bodily 

142 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

from  the  bridal  bower,  hoisted  into  a  double 
jinrikisha,  and  driven  off  ignominiously,  still 
embracing,  still  pledging  with  tears  an  eter 
nity  of  brotherhood.  Yes,  on  that  day  Kano 
had  hailed  the  earth  as  one  broad,  enamelled 
sake-cup,  the  air,  a  new  infusion  of  heavenly 
brew.  But  now 

"  Mata ! "  the  thin  voice  came,  "  are  you 
certain  that  this  is  but  the  sixth  day  of  my 
son's  wedding  ? " 

"It  is  but  the  sixth  day,  indeed,  since  your 
daughter's  sacrifice  to  a  barbarian,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean,"  returned  Mata,  with  a  bel 
ligerent  flourish  of  her  paper  duster. 

"  That  is  what  I  meant,"  said  the  other, 
passively.  "  Then  the  week  is  not  to  be  fin 
ished  until  to-morrow  at  noon.  Twenty-four 
hours  of  torture  to  me !  I  suppose  that  the 
ingrates  will  count  time  to  the  last  shadow  ! 
Oh,  Mata,  Mata,  you  once  were  a  faithful 
servant !  Why  did  you  let  me  make  that 
foolish  promise  of  giving  them  an  entire 
week  ?  A  day  would  have  been  ample, 
143 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

then    Tatsu    mid    I    could    have    begun    to 
paint." 

"  Ara  !  "  said  Mata,  uttering  a  sound  more 
forcible  than  respectful.  "Had  it  been  a 
decent  person  thus  married  to  my  young 
mistress,  instead  of  a  mountain  sprite,  they 
should  have  had  a  month  together  !  " 

Kano  groaned  under  the  suggestion. 
"  Then,  heartless  woman,  at  the  end  of 
the  month  you  would  have  been  without 
a  master ;  for  surely  my  sufferings  would, 
in  a  month,  have  shrunk  me  to  an  insect 
gaki  chirping  from  a  tree." 

"  It  is  to  me  a  matter  of  honorable  amaze 
ment  that  in  one  week  you  are  not  already 
a  gaki,  with  your  incessant  complaints,"  re 
torted  the  old  dame,  still  unrelenting. 

"  If  I  could  be  sure  he  is  painting  all  this 
interminable  time,"  said  Kano  to  himself, 
wringing  the  nervous  hands  together. 

"  You  may  be  augustly  sure  he  is  not," 
chuckled  the  cruel  Mata. 

The    old    man    got    hastily    to    his    feet. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Mata,  Mata,  your  tongue  is  that  of  a  viper, 
—  a  green  viper,  with  stripes.  I  will  go  from 
its  reach  into  the  highway.  Of  course  my  son 
is  painting.  What  else  could  he  be  doing  ? " 

The  old  dame's  laugh  fell  like  salt  upon 
a  wound.  Kano  caught  up  a  bamboo  cane 
and,  hatless,  went  into  the  street.  It  was 
odd,  how  often  during  this  week  he  found 
need  of  walking ;  still  stranger,  how  often 
his  wanderings  led  him  to  the  dodan  hedge 
enclosing  Tatsu's  cottage.  He  paused  at  the 
gate  now,  tormented  by  the  reflection  that 
he  himself  had  drawn  the  bolt.  How  still  it 
was  in  there !  Not  even  a  sparrow  chirped. 
Could  something  be  wrong  ?  Suddenly  a 
laugh  rang  out,  —  the  low  spontaneous  laugh 
of  a  happy  girl.  Kano  clutched  the  gate-post. 
It  was  not  the  sort  of  laugh  that  one  gives 
at  sight  of  a  splendid  painting.  It  had  too 
intimate,  too  personal,  a  ring.  But  surely 
Tatsu  was  painting  !  What  else  did  he  live 
for,  if  not  to  paint?  The  old  man  bore  a 
heavy  homeward  heart. 

10  145 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Next  day,  exactly  at  the  hour  of  noon,  the 
culprits  tapped  upon  Kano's  wooden  gate. 
During  the  morning  the  old  man  had  been 
in  a  condition  of  feverish  excitement,  but 
now  that  the  agony  of  waiting  had  forever 
ceased,  he  assumed  a  pose  of  indifference. 

Tatsu  entered  first,  as  a  husband  should. 
In  mounting  the  stone  which  served  as  step 
to  the  railless  veranda,  he  shook  off,  care 
lessly,  his  wooden  shoes.  Ume-ko  lifted  them, 
dusted  the  velvet  thongs,  and  placed  them 
with  mathematical  precision  side  by  side  upon 
the  flat  stone.  She  then  entered,  placing  her 
small  lacquered  clogs  beside  those  of  her 
husband. 

Kano,  from  the  tail  of  his  eye,  marked 
with  approval  these  tokens  of  wifely  submis 
sion.  From  a  small  aperture  in  the  kitchen 
shoji,  however  (a  peephole  commanding  a 
full  view  of  the  house),  dour  mutterings 
might  have  been  heard,  and  a  whispered 
lament  that  "  she  should  have  lived  to  see 
her  young  mistress  wipe  a  Tengu's  shoes ! " 
146 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

When  the  various  genuflections  and  phrases 
of  ceremonial  greeting  were  at  last  accom 
plished,  the  old  artist  broke  forth,  "  Well, 
well,  son  Tatsu,  how  many  paintings  in  all 
this  time  ? " 

Tatsu  looked  up  startled,  first  at  the  ques 
tioner,  then  at  his  wife.  She  gave  a  little, 
convulsive  giggle,  and  bent  her  shining  eyes 
to  the  floor. 

"  I  have  not  painted,"  said  Tatsu,  bluntly. 

"  Not  painted  ?  Impossible  !  What  then 
have  you  done  with  all  the  golden  hours  of 
these  interminable  days?" 

A  sullen  look  crept  into  the  boy's  face. 
Again  he  turned  questioning  eyes  upon  his 
wife.  From  the  troubled  silence  her  sweet 
voice  reached  like  a  caress :  "  Dear  father, 
the  autumn  days,  though  golden,  have  held 
unusual  heat." 

"  Heat !  What  are  cold  and  heat  to  a  true 
artist  ?  Did  he  not  paint  in  August  ?  I  am 
old,  yet  I  have  been  painting  !  " 

Again  fell  the  silence. 
147 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  I  said  that  I  had  been  painting,"  repeated 
the  old  man,  angrily. 

Ume-ko  recovered  herself  with  a  start.  "  I 
am — er  —  we  are  truly  overjoyed  to  hear  it. 
Shall  you  deign  to  honor  us  with  a  sight  of 
your  illustrious  work  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  not  deign ! "  snapped  the  old 
man.  "It  is  his  work  that  you  now  are  con 
cerned  with."  Here  he  pointed  to  the  scowl 
ing  Tatsu.  "  Why  have  you  not  influenced 
him  as  you  should  ?  He  must  paint !  It  is 
what  you  married  him  for." 

Ume-ko  caught  her  breath.  A  flush  of 
embarrassment  dyed  her  face,  and  she  threw 
a  half-frightened  look  towards  Tatsu.  An 
swering  her  father's  unrelenting  frown,  she 
murmured,  timidly,  "  To-morrow,  if  the  gods 
will,  my  dear  husband  shall  paint." 

Tatsu's  steady  gaze  drew  her.  "  Your  eyes, 
Ume-ko.  Is  it  true  that  for  this  —  to  make 
me  paint  —  you  consented  to  become  my 
wife  ?  " 

Ume  tried  in  vain  to  resist  the  look  he 
148 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

gave  her.  Close  at  her  other  hand,  she  knew, 
her  father  hung  upon  her  face  and  listened, 
trembling,  for  her  words.  To  him,  art  was 
all.  But  to  her  and  Tatsu,  who  had  found 
each  other,  —  ah !  She  tried  to  speak  but 
words  refused  to  form  themselves.  She  tried 
to  turn  a  docile  face  toward  old  Kano  ;  but 
the  deepening  glory  of  her  husband's  look 
drew  her  as  light  draws  a  flower.  Sullenness 
and  anger  fell  from  him  like  a  cloth.  His 
countenance  gave  out  the  fire  of  an  inward 
passion ;  his  eyes  —  deep,  strange,  strong, 
magnetic  —  mastered  and  compelled  her. 

"  No,  no,  beloved,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
cannot  say,  —  you  alone  know  the  soul  of 
me." 

A  fierce  triumph  flared  into  his  look.  He 
leaned  nearer,  with  a  smile  that  was  almost 
cruel  in  its  consciousness  of  power.  Under 
it  her  eyes  drooped,  her  head  fell  forward 
in  a  sudden  faintness,  her  whole  lithe  body 
huddled  into  one  gracious,  yielding  outline. 
Even  while  Kano  gasped,  doubting  his  eyes 
149 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  his  hearing,  Tatsu  sprang  to  his  feet, 
went  to  his  wife,  caught  her  up  rudely  by  one 
arm,  and  crushed  her  against  his  side,  while 
he  blazed  defiant  scorn  upon  Kano.  "  Come 
Dragon  Wife,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  echoed 
through  the  space  ;  "  come  back  to  our  little 
home.  No  stupid  old  ones  there,  no  prattle 
about  painting.  Only  you  and  I  and  love." 

Now  in  Japan  nothing  is  more  indelicate, 
more  unpardonable,  or  more  insulting  to  the 
listener  than  any  reference  to  the  personal 
love  between  man  and  wife.  At  Tatsu's 
terrible  speech,  Ume-ko,  unconscious  of  fur 
ther  cause  of  offense,  hid  her  face  against  his 
sleeve,  and  clung  to  him,  that  her  trembling 
might  not  cast  her  to  the  floor.  Kano,  at 
first,  was  unable  to  speak.  He  grew  slowly 
the  hue  of  death.  His  brief  words,  when 
at  last  they  came,  were  in  convulsive  spasms 
of  sound.  "  Go  to  your  rooms,  —  both.  Are 
you  mad,  indeed, — this  immodesty,  this  disre 
spect  to  me.  Mata  was  right, — a  Tengu,  a  bar 
barian.  Go,  go,  ere  I  rise  to  slay  you  both ! " 
150 


"  'Come,  Dragon  Wife,'  he  said,  'come  back  to  our  little  home.'" 

Paie  150. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

The  utterance  choked  him,  and  died  away 
in  a  gasping  silence.  He  clutched  at  his 
lean  chest.  Ume  would  have  sped  to  him, 
but  Tatsu  held  her  fast.  His  young  face 
flamed  with  an  answering  rage.  "  Do  you 
use  that  tone  to  me  —  old  man  —  to  me,  and 
this,  my  wife,"  he  was  beginning,  but  Ume 
put  frantic  hands  upon  his  lips. 

"  Master,  beloved  !  "  she  sobbed.  "  You 
shall  not  speak  thus  to  our  father,  —  you  do 
not  understand.  For  love  of  me,  then,  be 
patient.  Even  the  crows  on  the  hilltops 
revere  their  parents.  Come  there,  to  the 
hills,  with  me,  now,  now  —  oh,  my  soul's 
beloved  —  before  you  speak  again.  Wait 
there,  in  the  inner  room,  while  I  kneel  a 
moment  before  our  father.  Oh,  Tatsu,  if 
you  love  me " 

The  agony  of  her  face  and  voice  swept 
from  Tatsu's  mind  all  other  feeling.  He 
stood  in  the  doorway,  silent,  as  she  threw 
herself  before  old  Kano,  praying  to  him  as 
to  an  offended  god :  "  Father,  father,  do  not 
151 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

hold  hatred  against  us !  Tatsu  has  been 
without  kindred,  —  he  knows  not  yet  the 
sacred  duties  of  filial  love.  We  will  go 
from  your  presence  now  until  your  just 
anger  against  us  shall  have  cooled.  With 
the  night  we  shall  return  and  plead  for 
mercy  and  forgiveness.  No,  no,  do  not 
speak  again,  just  yet.  We  are  going,  now, 
now.  Oh,  my  dear  father,  the  agony  and 
the  shame  of  it!  Sayonara,  until  the  twi 
light."  She  hurried  back  to  Tatsu,  seized 
his  clenched  hand  with  her  small,  icy  fingers, 
and  almost  dragged  him  from  the  room. 

Kano  sat  as  she  had  left  him,  motionless, 
now,  as  the  white  jade  vase  within  the  toko- 
noma.  His  anger,  crimson,  blinding  at  the 
first  possession,  had  heated  by  now  into  a 
slow,  white  rage.  All  at  once  he  began  to 
tremble.  He  struck  himself  violently  upon 
one  knee,  crying  aloud,  "  So  thus  love  influ 
ences  him !  Ara !  My  Dragon  Painter ! 
Other  methods  may  be  tried.  Such  words 
and  looks  before  me,  me,  —  Kano  Indara  ! 
152 


And  Ume's  eyes  set  upon  him  as  in  blind 
ing  worship.  Could  I  have  seen  aright?  He 
caught  my  child  up  like  a  common  street 
wench,  a  thing  of  sale  and  barter.  And  she, 
—  she  did  not  scorn,  but  trembled  and  clung 
to  him.  Is  the  whole  world  on  its  head  ?  I 
will  teach  them,  I  will  teach  them." 

"Have  my  young  mistress  and  her  august 
spouse  already  taken  leave?"  asked  Mata  at 
a  crack  of  the  door. 

"Either  they  or  some  demon  changelings," 
answered  the  old  man,  rocking  to  and  fro 
upon  the  mats. 

The  old  servant  had,  of  course,  heard 
everything.  Feigning  now,  for  her  own 
purposes,  a  soothing  air  of  ignorance,  she 
glided  into  the  room,  lifted  the  tiny  tea-pot, 
shook  it  from  side  to  side,  and  then  cocked 
her  bright  eyes  upon  her  master.  "  The  tea 
pot.  It  is  honorably  empty.  Shall  I  fill  it  ? " 

"Yes,  yes;  replenish  it  at  once.  I  need 
hot  tea.  Shameless,  incredible ;  he  has, 
indeed,  the  manners  of  a  wild  boar." 

153 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  Ma-a-a ! "  exclaimed  the  old  woman. 
"Now  of  whom  can  my  master  be  speaking?" 

"  You  know  very  well  of  whom  I  am 
speaking,  goblin !  Do  you  not  always  listen 
at  the  shoji  ?  Go,  fill  the  pot !  " 

Mata  glided  from  the  room  with  the  quick 
ness  of  light  and  in  an  instant  had  returned. 
Replacing  the  smoking  vessel  and  maintain 
ing  a  face  of  decorous  interest,  she  asked, 
hypocritically,  "  And  was  my  poor  Miss  Ume 
mortified  ? " 

"  Mortified  ? "  echoed  the  artist  with  an 
angry  laugh  ;  "  she  admired  him !  She  clung 
to  him  as  a  creature  tamed  by  enchant 
ment.  My  daughter !  Never  did  I  expect 
to  look  upon  so  gross  a  sight !  Why, 
Mata  - 

"  Yes,  dear  master,"  purred  the  old  dame 
encouragingly  as  she  seated  herself  on  the 
floor  near  the  tea-pot.  "  One  moment,  while 
I  brew  you  a  cup  of  fresh,  swreet  tea.  It  is 
good  to  quiet  the  honorable  nerves.  I  can 
scarcely  believe  what  you  tell  me  of  our  Ume- 
154* 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ko,  so  modest  a  young  lady,  so  well  brought 
up!" 

"  I  tell  you  what  these  old  eyes  saw,"  re 
peated  Kano.  Once  more  he  described  the 
harrowing  sight,  adding  more  details.  Mata, 
well  used  to  his  outbursts  of  anger,  though 
indeed  she  had  seldom  seen  him  in  his  present 
condition  of  indignant  excitement,  drew  him 
on  by  degrees.  She  well  knew  that  an  anger 
put  into  lucid  words  soon  begins  to  cool. 
Some  of  her  remarks  were  in  the  nature  of 
small,  kindly  goads. 

"  Remember,  master,  the  poor  creatures 
are  married  but  a  week  to-day." 

"  Had  I  dreamed  of  such  low  conduct, 
they  should  never  have  been  married  at 
all !  " 

"  Of  course  he  is  n't  worthy  of  her,"  sighed 
the  other,  one  eye  on  Kano's  face. 

"  Nonsense !  He  is  more  than  worthy 
of  any  woman  upon  earth  if  he  could  but 
learn  to  conduct  himself  like  a  human 
being." 

155 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  That  would  take  a  long  schooling." 

"  He  is  the  greatest  artist  since  Sesshu ! " 
cried  the  old  man,  vehemently. 

Mata  bowed  over  to  the  tea-pot.  "  You 
recognize  artists,  master  ;  I  recognize  fools." 

"  Do  you  call  my  son  a  fool  ?  " 

"If  that  wild  man  is  still  to  be  considered 
your  son,  then  have  I  called  your  son  a  fool," 
answered  Mata,  imperturbably. 

The  new  flush  left  the  old  man's  face  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come.  "  Mata,  Mata,"  he 
groaned,  too  spent  now  for  further  vehe 
mence,  "  you  are  an  old  cat,  —  an  old  she- 
cat.  You  cannot  dream  what  it  is  to  be  an 
artist !  What  one  will  endure  for  art  ;  what 
one  will  sacrifice,  and  joy  in  the  giving ! 
Why,  woman,  if  with  one's  shed  blood,  with 
the  barter  of  one's  soul,  a  single  supreme  vision 
could  be  realized,  no  true  artist  would  hesi 
tate.  Yes,  if  even  wife,  child,  and  kindred 
were  to  be  joined  in  a  common  destruction 
for  art's  sake,  the  artist  must  not  hesitate. 
At  the  thought  of  one's  parents,  the  ances- 
156 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

tors  of  one's  house,  it  might  be  admissible 
to  pause,  but  at  nothing  else,  nothing  else, 
whatever!  Life  is  a  mere  bubble  on  the 
stream  of  art,  fame  is  a  bubble  —  riches,  hap 
piness,  Death  itself  !  Would  that  I  could 
tear  these  old  limbs  into  a  bleeding  frenzy  as 
I  paint,  if  by  doing  so  one  little  line  may 
swerve  the  nearer  to  perfection !  Often 
have  I  thought  of  this  and  prayed  for  the 
opportunity,  but  such  madness  does  not 
benefit.  Only  the  torn  anguish  of  a  soul 
may  sometimes  help.  And  with  old  souls, 
like  old  trees,  they  do  not  bleed,  but  are 
snapped  to  earth,  and  lie  there  rotting.  He, 
Tatsu,  the  son  of  my  adoption,  could  with 
one  strong  sweep  of  his  arm  make  the  gods 
stare,  and  he  spends  his  hours  fondling 
the  perishable  object  of  a  woman,  while  I, 
who  would  give  all,  all,  —  give  my  own 
child  that  he  loves,  —  -  I  remain  impotent ! 
Alas !  So  topsy-turvy  a  world  are  we  born 
in!" 

He  bowed  his  head  in  a  misery  so  abject 
157 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

that  Mata  forbore  to  jibe.  She  tried  to  speak 
again,  to  comfort  him,  but  he  motioned  her 
away,  and  sat,  scarcely  moving  in  his  place, 
until  the  night  brought  Tatsu  and  his  young 
wife  home  again. 


158 


VIII 

THUS  under,  as  it  were,  a  double  ban 
of  displeasure,  did  the  new  generation 
of  Kano,  Tatsu  and  Ume-ko,  begin 
life  in  the  little  cottage  beneath  the  hill. 
They  were  given  Ume's  chamber  near  which 
the  plum  tree  grew,  an  adjoining  room  hav 
ing  been  previously  fitted  up  for  Tatsu's 
painting.  As  in  the  other  cottage,  inviting 
rectangles  of  silk,  already  stretched  and  sized, 
stood  in  blank  rows  against  the  walls.  Even 
the  fusuma  were  of  new  paper,  offering,  it 
would  seem,  to  any  inspired  young  artist, 
a  surface  of  alluring  possibilities.  Paints, 
brushes,  and  vessels  without  number  made 
an  array  to  tempt,  if  only  the  tempting  were 
not  so  obvious. 

Ume-ko,  watching  closely  the  expression 
of  her  husband's  face  as  he  was  first  led  into 
159 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

this  room,  drew  old  Kano  aside,  and  urged 
that  more  tact  and  delicacy  be  used  in  leading 
Tatsu  back  to  a  desire  for  creative  work. 
She  herself,  she  hinted  with  deprecating 
sweetness,  might  do  much  if  only  allowed  to 
follow  her  own  loving  instincts.  But  Kano 
had  lost  confidence  in  his  daughter  and  bluntly 
told  her  so.  Tatsu  had  been  adopted  and 
married  in  order  to  make  him  paint,  and  paint 
he  should  !  Also  it  was  Ume-ko's  duty  to 
influence  him  in  whatever  way  and  method 
her  father  thought  best.  Let  her  succeed,  — 
that  was  her  sole  responsibility.  So  blustered 
Kano  to  himself  and  Mata,  and  not  even  the 
malicious  twinkle  of  the  old  servant's  eye 
pointed  the  way  to  wisdom. 

Naturally  Ume-ko  did  not  succeed.  Tatsu 
merely  laughed  at  her  flagrant  efforts  at  du 
plicity.  He  felt  no  need  of  painting,  no  de 
sire  to  paint.  He  had  won  the  Dragon 
Maiden.  Life  could  give  him  no  more ! 
There  was  no  anger  or  resentment  in  his  feel 
ing  toward  Kano,  or  even  the  old  scourge 
160 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Mata.  No,  he  was  too  happy  !  To  lie  dream 
ing  on  the  fragrant,  matted  floor  near  Ume, 
where  he  could  listen  to  her  soft  breathing  and 
at  times  pull  her  closer  by  a  silken  sleeve,  — 
this  was  enough  for  Tatsu.  Nothing  had 
power  to  arouse  in  him  a  sense  of  duty,  of 
obligation  to  himself,  or  to  his  adopted  father. 
He  would  not  argue  about  it,  and  could 
scarcely  be  said  to  listen.  He  lived  and  moved 
and  breathed  in  love  as  in  a  fourth  dimension. 
To  the  old  man's  frequent  remonstrances  he 
would  turn  a  gentle,  deprecating  face.  He  had 
promised  Ume-ko  never  again  to  speak  rudely 
to  their  father.  Besides,  why  should  he  ? 
The  outer  world  was  all  so  beautiful  and  sad 
and  unimportant.  A  sunset  cloud,  or  a  bird 
swinging  from  a  hagi  spray  could  bring  sharp, 
swift  tears  to  his  eyes.  Beauty  could  move 
him,  but  not  old  Kano's  genuine  sufferings. 
Yet,  the  old  man,  bleating  from  the  arid  rocks 
of  age,  was  doubtless  a  pathetic  spectacle,  and 
must  be  listened  to  kindly. 

Finding    the    boy    thus    obdurate,    Kano 

u  161 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

turned  the  full  force  of  his  discontent  on 
Ume-ko.  She  endured  in  silence  the  inces 
sant  railing.  Each  new  device  urged  by  the 
distracted  Kano  she  carried  out  with  scrupu 
lous  care,  though  even  with  the  performance 
of  it  she  knew  hopelessness  to  be  involved. 
For  hours  she  remained  away  from  home, 
hidden  in  a  neighbor's  house  or  in  the  temple 
on  the  hill,  it  being  Kano's  thought  that  per 
haps,  in  this  temporary  loss  of  his  idol,  Tatsu 
might  seek  solace  in  the  paint  room.  But 
Tatsu,  raging  against  the  conditions  which 
made  such  tyranny  possible,  stormed,  on  such 
occasions,  through  the  little  house,  and  up  and 
down  the  garden,  pelting  the  terrified  gold-fish 
in  their  caves,  stripping  leaves  and  tips  from 
Kano's  favorite  pine-shrubs,  or  standing,  long 
intervals  of  time,  on  the  crest  of  the  moon- 
viewing  hillock,  from  which  he  could  com 
mand  vistas  of  the  street  below. 

"  There 's  your  jewel  of  a  painter,"  old  Mata, 
indoors,  would  say.     "Look  at  him,  master, 
—  a  noble  figure,  indeed,  standing  on  one  leg 
162 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

like  a  love-sick  stork  ! "  And  Kano,  helpless 
before  his  own  misery  and  the  old  dame's 
acrid  triumph,  would  keep  silence,  only  mut 
tering  invocations  to  the  gods  for  self-control. 
Often  the  young  wife  pretended  a  sudden 
desire  for  her  own  artistic  work.  She  would 
go  hurriedly  to  the  little  painting  chamber, 
gather  complex  paraphernalia,  and  assume  the 
pose  of  eager  effort.  Tatsu  always  followed 
her  but,  once  within  the  room,  bent  such 
laughing  eyes  of  comprehension  that  she 
dared  not  look  into  his  face.  Nevertheless 
she  would  paint;  tracing,  mechanically,  the 
bird  and  flower  studies  in  which  she  had  once 
taken  delight.  Just  in  the  midst  of  some 
specially  delicate  stroke,  Tatsu  would  snatch 
her  hands  away,  press  them  against  his  lips, 
his  eyes,  his  throat,  hurl  the  painting  things 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  room,  drag  her 
down  to  his  strong  embrace,  and  triumph 
openly  in  the  victory  of  love.  The  young 
wife,  longing  from  the  first  to  yield,  attempted 
always  to  repel  him,  protesting  in  the  words 

163 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

her  father  had  bade  her  use,  and  urging  him 
to  rouse  himself  and  paint,  as  she  was  doing. 
Then  the  young  god  would  laugh  magnifi 
cent  music,  drowning  the  last  pathetic  echo 
of  old  Kano's  remembered  voice.  Catching 
her  anew  he  would  crush  her  against  his 
breast,  fondling  her  with  that  tempestuous 
gentleness  that  surely  no  mere  man  of  earth 
could  know,  would  drag  up  her  faint  soul  to 
him  through  eyes  and  lips  until  she  felt  her 
self  but  a  shred  of  ecstacy  caught  in  a  whirl 
wind  of  immortal  love. 

"  So  that  we  be  together, 

Even  the  Hell  of  the  Blood  Lake, 
Even  the  Mountain  of  Swords, 
Mean  nothing  to  us  at  all  !  " 

He  would  sing,  in  the  words  of  an  old  Bud 
dhist  folk-song.  At  such  supreme  heights 
of  emotion  she  knew,  consciously,  that  Kano's 
grief  and  disappointment  were  nothing.  She 
did  not  really  care  whether  Tatsu  ever  touched 
a  brush  again, — whether,  indeed,  the  whole 
164 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

visible  world  fretted  itself  into  dust.  She 
and  Tatsu  had  found  each  other !  The  rest 
meant  nothing  at  all ! 

Such  moments  were,  however,  the  isolated 
and  the  exceptional.  As  the  days  went 
by  they  became  less  frequent,  and,  by  a 
strange  law  of  contrasts,  with  diminution  ex 
acted  a  heavier  toll.  The  strain  of  antago 
nisms  within  the  little  home  became  almost 
unbearable.  Neither  Kano  nor  Tatsu  would 
yield  an  inch,  and  between  them,  like  a  white 
flower  between  stones,  little  Ume-ko  was 
crushed.  A  new  and  threatening  trouble  was 
that  of  poverty.  Tatsu  would  not  paint ; 
Kano,  in  his  wretchedness  could  not. 

The  young  wife  went  often  now  to  the 
temple  on  the  hill.  Tatsu  generally  went 
with  her,  remaining  outside  in  the  courtyard 
or  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  under  the  camphor 
tree,  while  she  was  praying  within.  Her  en 
treaties  were  all  for  divine  guidance.  She 
implored  of  the  gods  a  deeper  insight  into  the 
cause  of  this  strange  trouble  now  upon  them, 

165 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  besought,  too,  that  in  her  husband,  Tatsu, 
should  be  awakened  a  recognition  of  his  du 
ties,  and  of  the  household  needs.  Kano 
visited  the  temple,  also,  and  spent  long  hours 
in  conference  with  his  personal  friend,  the 
abbot.  Even  old  Mata,  abandoning  for  the 
moment  her  Protestantism  and  reverting  to 
the  yearning  (never  entirely  stifled)  for  mystic 
practises,  went  to  an  old  charlatan  of  a  for 
tune-teller,  and  purchased  various  charms  and 
powders  for  driving  the  demons  from  the  un 
conscious  Tatsu.  Ume-ko  soon  discovered 
this,  and  the  fear  that  Tatsu  would  be  poisoned 
added  to  a  load  of  anxiety  already  formidable. 
By  the  end  of  October,  Yeddo's  most  golden 
and  most  perfect  month,  no  hours  brought 
happiness  to  the  little  bride  but  those  stolen 
ones  in  which  she  and  her  husband  were  wont 
to  take  long  walks  together,  sometimes  into 
the  country,  again  through  the  mazes  of  the 
great  capital.  Even  at  these  times  of  respite 
she  was  only  too  well  aware  how  Kano  and 
the  old  nurse  sat  together  at  home,  lament- 
166 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ing  the  gross  selfishness  of  the  young,  —  de 
ciding,  perhaps,  upon  the  next  loved  painting 
or  household  treasure  to  be  sold  for  buying 
rice.  Tatsu,  now  as  unreasonable  and  obsti 
nate  as  Kano  himself,  still  refused  to  admit 
imhappiness  or  threatened  destitution.  He 
and  Ume-ko  could  go  to  the  mountains,  he 
said.  "  The  mountains  were,  after  all,  their 
true  home.  Once  there  the  Sennin  and  the 
deities  of  cloud  would  see  that  they  did  not 
suffer." 

On  an  afternoon  very  near  the  end  of  the 
month  the  young  couple  took  such  a  walk 
together.  Their  course  lay  eastward,  cross 
ing  at  right  angles  the  main  streets  of  the 
great  city,  until  they  reached  the  shores  of 
the  Sumida  River,  winding  down  like  a  road 
of  glass.  They  had  emerged  into  the  famous 
district  of  Asakusa,  where  the  great  temple 
of  Kwannon  the  Merciful  attracts  daily  its 
thousands  of  worshippers.  Here  the  water 
course  is  bounded  by  fashionable  tea-houses, 
many  stories  high,  and  here  the  great  arched 

167 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

bridges  are  always  crowded.  Leaving  this 
busy  heart  of  things,  they  sauntered  north 
ward,  finding  lonelier  shores,  and  soon  wide 
fields  of  green,  until  they  reached  a  bank 
whereon  grew  a  single  leaning  willow.  The 
body  of  this  tree,  bending  outward,  sent  its 
long,  nerveless  leaves  in  a  perpetual  green 
rain  to  the  surface  of  the  stream,  where  sud 
den  swarms  of  minnows,  like  shivers  in  a 
glass,  assailed  the  deceptive  bait.  The  roots 
of  the  tree  —  great  yellowish,  twisted  ropes 
of  roots  —  clutched  air,  earth,  and  water  in 
their  convolutions.  Among  them  the  cur 
rent,  swifter  here  than  in  mid-stream,  uttered 
at  times  a  guttural,  uncanny  sound  as  of 
spectral  laughter. 

Ume-ko  stood,  one  slender  arm  about  the 
trunk,  looking  out,  with  mournful  eyes,  upon 
the  passing  river  show.  On  the  farther  bank 
grew  a  continuous  wall  of  cherry  trees  in  yel 
lowing  leaf,  and  above  them  glowed  the  first 
hint  of  the  coming  sunset.  Rising  against 
the  sky  a  temple  roof,  tilted  like  the  keel  of  a 
168 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

sunken  vessel,  cut  sharp  lines  into  the  crim 
son  light. 

Tatsu  flung  himself  full  length  upon  the 
bank.  He  patted  the  soil  with  its  springing 
grasses,  and  felt  his  heart  flow  out  in  love  to 
it.  Then  he  reached  up,  caught  at  the  drift 
ing  gauze  of  time's  sleeve,  and  made  as  if  to 
pull  her  down.  Ume  clasped  the  tree  more 
tightly. 

"  Tatsu,"  she  said,  "  I  implore  you  not  to 
think  always  of  me.  Look,  beloved,  the  thin 
white  sails  of  the  rice-boats  pass,  and,  over 
yonder,  children  in  scarlet  petticoats  dance 
beneath  the  trees." 

"  I  have  eyes  but  for  my  wife,"  said  wilful 
Tatsu. 

Ume-ko  drew  the  sleeve  away.  She  would 
not  meet  his  smile.  "  Alas,  shall  I  forever 
obscure  beauty  !  " 

"  There  is  no  beauty  now  but  in  you ! 
You  are  the  sacred  mirror  which  reflects  for 
me  all  loveliness." 

"Dear  lord,  those  words  are  almost  blas- 
169 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

phemy,"  said  Ume,  in  a  frightened  whisper. 
"  Look,  now,  beloved,  the  light  of  the  sun 
sinks  down.  Soon  the  great  moon  will  come 
to  us." 

"  What  care  I  for  a  distant  moon,  oh, 
Dragon  Maid,"  laughed  Tatsu. 

Ume's  outstretched  arm  fell  heavily  to  her 
side.  "  Alas  !  "  she  said  again.  "  From 
deepest  happiness  may  come  the  deepest 
pain.  You  dream  not  of  the  hurt  you  give." 

"  I  give  no  hurt  at  all  that  I  cannot  more 
than  heal,"  cried  Tatsu,  in  his  masterful  way. 
But  Ume's  lips  still  quivered,  and  she  turned 
her  face  from  him. 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  the  water 
among  the  willow  roots  gave  out  a  rush 
and  gurgle,  a  sound  of  liquid  merriment,  — 
perhaps  the  laugh  of  a  "  Kappa "  or  river 
sprite,  mocking  the  perplexities  of  men. 
Ume-ko  leaned  over  instantly,  staring  down 
into  the  stream. 

"  How  deep  it  is,  and  strong,"  she  whis 
pered,  as  if  to  her  own  thought.  "  That 

170 


"  Ume-ko  leaned  over  inst;intly,  staring  down  into  the  stream." 

Patjc  170. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

which   fell   in  here  would    be   carried   very 
swiftly  out  to  sea." 

Tatsu  smiled  dreamily  upon  her.  In  his 
delight  at  her  beauty,  the  delicate  poise  of 
body  with  its  long,  gray  drifting  sleeves, 
he  did  not  realize  the  meaning  of  her  words. 
One  little  foot  in  its  lacquered  shoe  and 
rose-velvet  thong,  crushed  the  grasses  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  bank.  Suddenly  the  earth 
beneath  her  shivered.  It  parted  in  a  long 
black  fissure,  and  then  sank,  with  sob  and 
splash,  into  the  hurrying  water,  time  tot 
tered  and  clung  to  the  tree.  Tatsu,  spring 
ing  up  at  a  single  bound,  caught  her  back 
into  safety.  The  very  branches  above  them 
shook  as  if  in  sentient  fear.  Ume  felt  herself 
pressed,  —  welded  against  her  husband's  side 
in  such  an  agony  of  strength  that  his  beating 
heart  seemed  to  be  in  her  own  body.  She 
heard  the  breath  rasp  upward  in  his  throat 
and  catch  there,  inarticulate.  He  began 
dragging  her  backward,  foot  by  foot.  At  a 
safe  distance  he  suddenly  sank  —  rather  fell 

171 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

— to  earth  bearing  her  with  him,  and  began 
moaning  over  her,  caressing  and  fondling  her 
as  a  tiger  might  a  rescued  cub. 

"  Never  go  near  that  stream  again  ! "  he 
said  hoarsely,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak  at  all. 
"  Hear  me,  Ume-ko,  it  is  my  command  ! 
Never  again  approach  that  tree.  It  is  a 
goblin  tree.  Some  dead,  unhappy  woman, 
drowned  here  in  the  self-death,  must  inhabit 
it  and  would  entice  you  to  destruction.  Oh, 
Ume,  my  wife,  —  my  wife  !  I  saw  the  black 
earth  grinning  beneath  your  feet.  I  cannot 
bear  it !  Come  away  from  this  place  at  once, 
—  at  once !  The  river  itself  may  reach  out 
snares  to  us." 

"  Yes,  lord,  I  will  come,"  she  panted,  try 
ing  to  loosen  the  rigid  arms,  "  but  I  am  faint. 
This  high  bank  is  safe,  now.  And,  lord, 
when  you  so  embrace  and  crush  me  my 
strength  does  not  return." 

Tatsu  grudgingly  relaxed  his  hold.  "  Rest 
here  then,  close  beside  me,"  he  said.  "  I  shall 
not  trust  you,  even  an  inch  from  me." 

172 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

The  river  current  in  the  tree  roots  laughed 
aloud. 

•  Across  and  beyond  the  road  of  glass,  the 
sky  grew  cold  now  and  blue,  like  the  side  of 
a  dead  fish.  A  glow  subtle  and  unmistaka 
ble  as  perfume  tingled  up  through  the  dusk. 

"  The  Lady  Moon,"  whispered  Ume,  softly. 
Freeing  her  little  hands  she  joined  them,  bent 
her  head,  and  gave  the  prayer  of  welcome  to 
O  Tsuki  Sama. 

Tatsu  watched  her  gloomily.  "  I  pray  to 
no  moon,"  he  said.  "  I  pray  to  nothing  in 
this  place." 

A  huge  coal  barge  on  its  way  to  the  Yoko 
hama  harbor  glided  close  to  them  along  the 
dark  surface  of  the  tide.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  barge  a  fire  was  burning,  and  above  it, 
from  a  round  black  cauldron,  boiling  rice  sent 
up  puffs  of  white,  fragrant  steam.  The  red 
light  fell  upon  a  ring  of  faces,  evidently  a 
mother  and  her  children ;  and  on  the  broad, 
naked  back  of  the  father  who  leaned  far  out 
ward  on  his  guiding  pole.  Ume  turned  her 
173 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

eyes  away.  "  I  think  I  can  walk  now,"  she 
said. 

Tatsu  rose  instantly,  and  drew  her  upward 
by  the  hands.  A  shudder  of  remembered 
horror  caught  him.  He  pressed  her  once 
more  tightly  to  his  heart.  "  Ume-ko,  Ume- 
ko,  my  wife,  —  my  Dragon  Wife  ! "  he  cried 
aloud  in  a  voice  of  love  and  anguish.  "  1 
have  sought  you  through  the  torments  of  a 
thousand  lives.  Shall  anything  have  power 
to  separate  us  now  ? " 

"  Nothing  can  part  us  now,  but  —  death," 
said  Um£-ko,  and  glanced,  for  an  instant, 
backward  to  the  river. 

Tatsu  winced.  "  Use  not  the  word  !  It 
attracts  evil." 

"  It  is  a  word  that  all  must  some  day  use," 
persisted  the  young  wife,  gently.  "  Tell  me, 
beloved,  if  death  indeed  should  come  —  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  for  both.  It  could  not  be 
for  one  alone." 

"  No,  no ! "  she  cried  aloud,  lifting  her 
white  face  as  if  in  appeal  to  heaven.  "  Do 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

not  say  that,  lord  !  Do  not  think  it !  If  I, 
the  lesser  one,  should  be  chosen  of  death, 
surely  you  would  live  for  our  father,  —  for 
the  sake  of  art ! " 

"  I  would  kill  myself  just  as  quickly  as  I 
could ! "  said  Tatsu,  doggedly.  "  What  com 
fort  would  painting  be  ?  I  painted  because  I 
had  you  not." 

"  Because — you — had  — me  — not,"  mused 
little  Ume-ko,  her  eyes  fixed  strangely  upon 
the  river. 

"  Come,"  said  Tatsu,  rudely,  "  did  I  not 
forbid  you  to  speak  of  death  ?  Too  much 
has  been  said.  Besides,  the  fate  of  ordinary 
mortals  should  have  no  potency  for  such  as 
we.  When  our  time  comes  for  pause  before 
rebirth  we  shall  climb  together  some  high 
mountain  peak,  lifting  our  arms  and  voices  to 
our  true  parents,  the  gods  of  storm  and  wind. 
They  will  lean  to  us,  beloved,  —  they  will  rush 
downward  in  a  great  passion  of  joy,  catching 
us  and  straining  us  to  immortality ! " 

By  this  they  were  from  sight  and  hearing 
175 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

of  the  river,  and  had  begun  to  thread  the 
maze  of  narrow  city  streets  in  which  now 
lamps  and  tiny  electric  bulbs  and  the  bob 
bing  lanterns  of  hurrying  jinrikisha  men  had 
begun  to  twinkle.  In  the  darker  alleys  the 
couple  walked  side  by  side.  Ume,  at  times, 
even  rested  a  small  hand  on  her  husband's 
sleeve.  In  the  broad,  well-lighted  thorough 
fares  he  strode  on  some  paces  in  advance 
while  Ume  followed,  in  decorous  humility, 
as  a  good  wife  should.  Few  words  passed 
between  them.  The  incident  at  the  willow 
tree  had  left  a  gloomy  aftermath  of  thought. 

In  the  Kano  home  the  simple  night  meal 
of  rice,  tea,  soup,  and  pickled  vegetables  was 
already  prepared.  Mata  motioned  them  to 
their  places  in  the  main  room  where  old 
Kano  was  already  seated,  and  served  them 
in  the  gloomy  silence  which  was  part  of 
the  general  strain.  Throughout  the  whole 
place  reproach  hung  like  a  miasma. 

This  evening,  almost  for  the  first  time, 
Tatsu  reflected,  in  full  measure,  the  de- 
176 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

spondency  of  his  companions.  The  elder 
man,  glancing  now  and  again  toward  him, 
evidently  restrained  with  difficulty  a  flow 
of  bitter  words.  Once  he  spoke  to  his 
daughter,  fixing  sunken  eyes  upon  her. 
"  The  crimson  lacquered  wedding-chest  that 
was  your  mother's,  to-day  has  been  sold  to 
buy  us  food."  Ume  clenched  her  little 
hands  together,  then  bowed  far  over,  in 
token  that  she  had  heard.  There  were  no 
words  to  say.  For  weeks  now  they  had 
lived  upon  such  money  as  this,  —  namida- 
kane, — "tear-money"  the  Japanese  call  it. 

Tatsu,  helpless  in  his  place,  scowled  and 
muttered  for  a  moment,  then  rose  and  hur 
ried  out,  leaving  the  meal  unfinished.  Ume 
watched  him  sadly,  but  did  not  follow.  This 
was  so  unusual  a  thing  that  Tatsu,  alone  in 
their  chamber,  was  at  first  astonished,  then 
alarmed.  For  ten  minutes  or  more  he  paced 
up  and  down  the  narrow  space,  pride  urging 
him  to  await  his  wife's  dutiful  appearance. 
In  a  short  while  more  he  felt  the  tension  to 

12  177 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

be  unbearable.  A  sinister  silence  flooded  the 
house.  He  hurried  back  to  the  main  room 
to  find  that  Ume  and  old  Kano  were  not 
there.  He  began  searching  the  house,  all 
but  the  kitchen.  Instinctively  he  avoided 
old  Mata's  domain,  knowing  it  to  be  the 
lair  of  an  enemy.  At  last  necessity  drove 
him  to  it  also.  Her  face  leered  at  him 
through  a  parted  shoji.  He  gave  a  bound 
in  her  direction.  Instantly  she  had  slammed 
the  panels  together ;  and  before  he  could 
reopen  them  had  armed  herself  with  a  huge, 
glittering  fish-knife.  "  None  of  your  mountain 
wild-cat  ways  for  me  ! "  she  screamed. 

In  spite  of  wretchedness  and  alarm  the 
boy  laughed  aloud.  "  I  wish  not  to  hurt 
you,  old  fool,"  he  said.  "  I  desire  nothing 
but  to  know  where  my  wife  is." 

"With  her  father,"  snapped  the  other. 

"  Yes,  but  where,  —  where  ?  And  why 
did  she  go  without  telling  me?  Where  did 
he  take  her  ?  Answer  quickly.  I  must 
follow  them." 

178 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"I  have  no  answers  for  you,"  said  Mata. 
"And  even  if  I  had  you  would  not  get  them. 
Go,  go,  out  of  my  sight,  you  Bearer  of 
Discord!"  she  railed,  feeling  that  at  last  an 
opportunity  for  plain  speaking  had  arrived. 
"This  was  a  happy  house  until  your  evil 
presence  sought  it.  Don't  glare  at  me,  and 
take  postures.  I  care  neither  for  your  tall 
figure  nor  your  flashing  eyes.  You  may 
bewitch  the  others,  but  not  old  Mata  !  Oh, 
Dragon  Painter !  Oh,  Dragon  Painter ! 
The  greatest  since  Sesshu ! "  she  mimicked, 
"show  me  a  few  of  the  wonderful  things  you 
were  to  paint  us  when  once  you  were  Kano's 
son !  Bah !  you  were  given  my  nursling,  as 
a  wolf  is  given  a  young  fawn,  —  that  was  all 
you  wanted.  You  will  never  paint ! " 

"Tell  me  where  she  is  or  I'll — "  began  the 
boy,  raving. 

"No  you  won't,"  jeered  Mata,  now  in  a 
transport  of  fury.  "  Back,  back,  out  of 
my  kitchen  and  my  presence  or  this  knife  will 
plunge  its  way  into  you  as  into  a  devil-fish. 

179 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Oh,  it  would  be  a  sight !  I  have  no  love  for 
you!" 

"I  care  not  for  your  love,  old  Baba,  old 
fiend,  nor  for  your  knife.  Where  did  my 
Ume  go  ?  You  grin  like  an  old  she-ape ! 
Never,  upon  my  mountains  did  I  see  so 
vicious  a  beast." 

"Then  go  back  to  your  mountains!  You 
are  useless  here.  You  will  not  even  paint. 
Go  where  you  belong  ! " 

"The  mountains, — the  mountains!"  sob 
bed  the  boy,  under  his  breath.  "  Yes,  I 
must  go  to  them  or  my  soul  will  go  with 
out  me!  Perhaps  the  kindlier  spirits  of  the 
air  will  tell  me  where  she  is !"  With  a  last 
distracted  gesture  he  fled  from  the  house  and 
out  into  the  street.  Mata  listened  with  sat 
isfaction  as  she  heard  him  racing  up  the  slope 
toward  the  hillside.  "  I  wish  it  were  indeed 
a  Kiu  Shiu  peak  he  climbed,  instead  of  a 
decent  Yeddo  cliff,"  she  muttered  to  herself, 
as  she  tied  on  her  apron  and  began  to  wash 
the  supper  dishes.  "But,  alas,  he  will  be 

180 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

back  all  too  soon,  perhaps  before  my  master 
and  Miss  Ume  come  down  from  the  temple." 

In  this  surmise  the  old  dame  was,  for 
once,  at  fault.  Tatsu  did  not  return  until 
full  daylight  of  the  next  morning.  He  had 
been  wandering,  evidently,  all  night  long 
among  the  chill  and  dew-wet  branches  of 
the  mountain  shrubs.  His  silken  robe  was 
torn  and  stained  as  had  been  the  blue 
cotton  dress,  that  first  day  of  his  coming. 
At  sight  of  his  sunken  eyes  and  haggard 
look  Ume-ko's  heart  cried  out  to  him,  and 
it  was  with  difficulty  that  she  restrained  her 
tears.  But  she  still  had  a  last  appeal  to 
make,  and  this  was  to  be  the  hour. 

In  response  to  his  angry  questions,  she 
would  answer  nothing  but  that  she  and  her 
father  had  business  at  the  temple.  More 
than  this,  she  would  not  say.  As  he  per 
sisted,  pleading  for  her  motives  in  so  leaving 
him,  and  heaping  her  with"  the  reproaches  of 
tortured  love,  she  suddenly  threw  herself  on 
the  mat  before  him,  in  a  passion  of  grief 

181 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

such  as  he  had  not  believed  possible  to 
her.  She  clasped  his  knees,  his  feet,  and  be 
sought  him,  with  all  the  strength  and 
pathos  of  her  soul,  to  make  at  least  one  more 
attempt  to  paint.  He,  now  in  equal  torment, 
with  tears  running  along  his  bronzed  face, 
confessed  to  her  that  the  power  seemed  to 
have  gone  from  him.  Some  demon,  he  said, 
must  have  stolen  it  from  him  while  he  slept, 
for  now  the  very  touch  of  a  brush,  the  look 
of  paint,  frenzied  him. 

Ume-ko  went  again  to  her  father,  saying 
that  she  again  had  failed.  The  strain  was 
now,  indeed,  past  all  human  endurance. 
The  little  home  became  a  charged  battery 
of  tragic  possibilities.  Each  moment  was  a 
separate  menace,  and  the  hours  heaped  up 
a  structure  already  tottering. 

At  dawn  of  the  next  day,  Tatsu,  who 
after  a  restless  and  unhappy  night  had  fallen 
into  heavy  slumber,  awoke,  with  a  start,  alone. 
A  pink  light  glowed  upon  his  paper  shoji; 
the  plum  tree,  now  entirely  leafless,  threw  a 
182 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

splendid  shadow-silhouette.  At  the  eaves, 
sparrows  chattered  merrily.  It  was  to  be  a 
fair  day:  yet  instantly,  even  before  he  had 
sprung,  cruelly  awake,  to  his  knees,  he  knew 
that  the  dreaded  Something  was  upon  him. 

On  the  silken  head-rest  of  time's  pillow 
was  fastened  a  long,  slender  envelope,  such 
as  Japanese  women  use  for  letters.  Tatsu 
recoiled  from  it  as  from  a  venomous  reptile. 
Throwing  himself  face  down  upon  the  floor 
he  groaned  aloud,  praying  his  mountain  gods 
to  sweep  away  from  his  soul  the  black  mist 
of  despair  that  now  crawled,  cold,  toward  it. 
Why  should  Ume-ko  have  left  him  again, 
and  at  such  an  hour  ?  Why  should  she 
have  pinned  to  her  pillow  a  slip  of  written 
paper?  He  would  not  read  it!  Yes,  yes,— 
he  must, — he  must  read  instantly.  Perhaps 
the  Something  was  still  to  be  prevented !  He 
caught  the  letter  up,  held  it  as  best  he  could 
in  quivering  hands,  and  read : 

Because  of  my  unworthiness,  O  master,  my  heart's 
beloved,  I  have  been  allowed  to  come  between  you 

183 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  the  work  you  were  given  of  the  gods  to  do.  The 
fault  is  all  mine,  and  must  come  from  my  evil  deeds 
in  a  previous  life.  By  sacrifice  of  joy  and  life  I  now 
attempt  to  expiate  it.  I  go  to  the  leaning  willow 
where  the  water  speaks.  One  thing  only  I  shall  ask 
of  you,  —  that  you  admit  to  your  mind  no  thought  of 
self-destruction,  for  this  would  heavily  burden  my 
poor  soul,  far  off'  in  the  Meido-land.  Oh,  live,  my 
beloved,  that  I,  in  spirit,  may  still  be  near  you.  I 
will  come.  You  shall  know  that  I  am  near,  —  only, 
as  the  petals  of  the  plum  tree  fall  in  the  wind  of  spring, 
so  must  my  earthly  joy  depart  from  me.  Farewell, 
O  thou  who  art  loved  as  no  mortal  was  ever  loved 
before  thee. 

Your  erring  wife, 

Ume-ko. 

In  his  fantastic  night-robe  with  its  design 
of  a  huge  fish,  ungirdled  and  wild  of  eyes, 
Tatsu  rushed  through  the  drowsy  streets  of 
Yeddo.  The  few  pedestrians,  catching  sight 
of  him,  withdrew,  with  cries  of  fear,  into 
gateways  and  alleys. 

At  the  leaning  willow  he  paused,  threw 
an  arm  about  it,  and  swayed  far  over  like  a 
drunkard,  his  eyes  blinking  down  upon  the 
184 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

stream.  Ume-ko's  words,  at  the  time  of 
their  utterance  scarcely  noted,  came  now  as 
an  echo,  hideously  clear.  "That  which  fell 
here  would  be  carried  very  swiftly  out  to 
sea."  His  nails  broke  against  the  bark. 
She, — his  wife, — must  have  been  thinking 
of  it  even  then,  while  he,  —  he,  —  blind 
brute  and  dotard — sprawled  upon  the  earth 
feeding  his  eyes  of  flesh  upon  the  sight  of 
her.  But,  after  all,  could  she  have  really 
done  it?  Surely  the  gods,  by  miracle,  must 
have  checked  so  disproportionate  a  sacrifice ! 
Suddenly  his  wandering  gaze  was  caught 
and  held  by  a  little  shoe  among  the  willow 
roots.  It  was  of  black  lacquer,  with  a  thong 
of  rose-colored  velvet.  With  one  cry,  that 
seemed  to  tear  asunder  the  physical  walls  of 
his  body,  he  loosed  his  arm  and  fell. 


185 


IX 

HIS  body  was  found  some  moments 
later  by  old  Kano  and  a  bridge 
keeper.  It  was  caught  among  the 
pilings  of  a  boat-landing  several  hundred  feet 
farther  down  the  tide.  A  thin,  sluggish 
stream  of  blood  followed  it  like  a  clue,  and, 
when  he  was  dragged  up  upon  the  bank, 
gushed  out  terribly  from  a  wound  near  his 
temple.  He  had  seized,  in  falling,  Umc-ko's 
lacquered  geta,  and  his  fingers  could  not  be 
unclasped.  In  spite  of  the  early  hour  (across 
the  river  the  sun  still  peered  through  folds  of 
shimmering  mist)  quite  a  crowd  of  people 
gathered. 

"  It  is  the  newly  adopted  son  of  Kano  In- 
dara,"  they  whispered,  one  to  another.  "  He 
is  but  a  few  weeks  married  to  Kano's  daughter, 
and  is  called  '  The  Dragon  Painter.' " 

186 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

The  efficient  river-police  summoned  an 
ambulance,  and  had  him  taken  to  the  nearest 
hospital.  Here,  during  an  entire  day,  every 
art  was  employed  to  restore  him  to  conscious 
ness,  but  without  success.  Life,  indeed,  re 
mained.  The  flow  of  blood  was  stopped,  and 
the  wound  bandaged,  but  no  sign  of  intelli 
gence  awoke. 

"  It  is  to  be  an  illness  of  many  weeks,  and 
of  great  peril,"  answered  the  chief  physician 
that  night  to  Kano's  whispered  question. 
The  old  man  turned  sorrowfully  away  and 
crept  home,  wondering  whether  now,  at  this 
extremity,  the  gods  would  utterly  desert  him. 

Mata,  prostrated  at  first  by  the  loss  of  her 
nursling,  soon  rallied  her  practical  old  wits. 
She  went,  in  secret,  to  the  hospital,  demanded 
audience  of  the  house  physician,  and  gave  to 
him  all  details  of  the  strange  situation  which 
had  culminated  in  Ume's  desperate  act  of  self- 
renunciation,  and  induced  Tatsu's  subsequent 
madness.  She  did  not  ask  for  a  glimpse  of 
the  sick  man.  Indeed  she  made  no  pretence 

187 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

of  kindly  feeling  toward  him,  for,  in  conclu 
sion,  she  said,  "  Now,  August  Sir,  if,  with 
your  great  skill  in  such  matters,  you  succeed 
in  giving  back  to  this  young  wild  man  the 
small  amount  of  intelligence  he  was  born  with, 
I  caution  you,  above  all  things,  keep  from 
his  reach  such  implements  of  self-destruction 
as  ropes,  knives,  and  poisons.  Oh,  he  is  an 
untamed  beast,  Doctor  San.  His  love  for  my 
poor  young  mistress  was  that  of  a  lion  and  a 
demon  in  one.  He  will  certainly  slay  himself 
wrhen  he  has  the  strength.  Not  that  I  care  ! 
His  death  would  bring  relief  to  me,  for  in  our 
little  home  he  is  like  the  spirit  of  storm  caged 
in  a  flower.  Would  I  had  never  seen  him,  or 
felt  the  influence  of  his  evil  karma  !  But  my 
poor  old  master  still  dotes  on  him,  and,  with 
Miss  Ume  vanished,  if  this  Dragon  Painter, 
too,  should  die  at  once,  Kano  could  not  en 
dure  the  double  blow ! "  The  old  woman  be- 

y 

gan  to  sob  in  her  upraised  sleeve,  apologizing 
through  her  tears  for  the  discourtesy.  The 
physician  comforted  her  with  kind  words,  and 

188 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

thanked  her  very  sincerely  for  the  visit.  Her 
disclosures  did,  indeed,  throw  light  upon  a 
difficult  situation. 

From  the  hospital  the  old  servant  made  her 
way  to  Uchida's  hotel,  to  learn  that  he  had 
gone  the  day  before  to  Kiu  Shiu.  With  this 
tower  of  strength  removed  Mata  felt,  more 
than  ever,  that  Kano's  sole  friend  was  her 
self.  The  loss  of  Ume  was  still  to  her  a 
horror  and  a  shock.  The  eating  loneliness  of 
long,  empty  days  at  home  had  not  yet  begun ; 
but  Mata  was  to  know  them,  also. 

Kano,  during  the  first  precarious  days  of 
his  son's  illness,  practically  deserted  the  cot 
tage,  and  lived,  day  and  night,  in  the  hospital. 
His  pathetic  old  figure  became  habitual  to  the 
halls  and  gardens  near  his  son.  The  physi 
cians  and  nurses  treated  him  with  delicate 
kindness,  forcing  food  and  drink  upon  him, 
and  urging  him  to  rest  himself  in  one  of  the 
untenanted  rooms.  They  believed  the  deep 
ening  lines  of  grief  to  be  traced  by  the  loss  of 
an  only  daughter,  rather  than  by  this  illness 

189 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

of  a  newly  adopted  son.  In  truth  the  old 
man  seldom  thought  of  Ume-ko.  He  was 
watching  the  life  that  flickered  in  Tatsu's 
prostrate  body  as  a  lost,  starving  traveller 
watches  a  lantern  approaching  over  the  moor. 
"The  gods  preserve  him, — the  gods  grant 
his  life  to  the  Kano  name,  to  art,  and  the 
glory  of  Nippon,"  so  prayed  the  old  man's 
shrivelled  lips  a  hundred  times  each  day. 

After  a  stupor  of  a  week,  fever  laid  hold  of 
Tatsu,  bringing  delirium,  delusion,  and  mad 
raving.  At  times  he  believed  himself  already 
dead,  and  in  the  heavenly  isle  of  Ho-rai  with 
Ume.  His  gestures,  his  whispered  words  of 
tenderness,  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  those 
who  listened.  Again  he  lived  through  that 
terrible  dawn  when  first  he  had  read  her  letter 
of  farewell.  Each  word  was  bitten  with  acid 
into  his  mind.  Again  and  again  he  repeated 
the  phrases,  now  dully,  as  a  wearied  beast  goes 
round  a  treadmill,  now  with  weeping,  and  in 
convulsions  of  a  grief  so  fierce  that  the  mer 
ciful  opiate  alone  could  still  it. 
190 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

The  fever  slowly  began  to  ebb.  For  him 
the  shores  of  conscious  thought  lay  scorched 
and  blackened  by  memory.  More  unwillingly 
than  he  had  been  dragged  up  from  the  river's 
cold  embrace  was  he  now  held  back  from 
death.  His  first  lucid  words  were  a  petition. 
"  Do  not  keep  me  alive.  In  the  name  of 
Kwannon  the  Merciful,  to  whom  my  Ume 
used  to  pray,  do  not  bind  me  again  upon  the 
wheel  of  life  ! "  Although  he  fought  against 
it  with  all  the  will  power  left  to  him,  strength 
brightened  in  his  veins.  Stung  into  new  an 
guish  he  prayed  more  fervently,  "  Let  me  pass 
now  !  I  cannot  bear  more  pain.  I  '11  die  in 
spite  of  you.  Oh,  icy  men  of  science,  you 
but  give  me  the  means  with  which  to  slay 
myself!  I  warn  you,  at  the  first  chance  I 
shall  escape  you  all ! " 

"  Mad  youth,  it  is  my  duty  to  give  you 
back  your  life  even  though  you  are  to  use  it 
as  a  coward,"  said  the  chief  physician. 

Once  when  his  suffering  had  passed  beyond 
the  power  of  all  earthly  alleviation,  and  it 

191 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

seemed  as  if  each  moment  would  fling  the 
shuddering  victim  into  the  dark  land  of  per 
petual  madness,  Kano  urged  that  the  venera 
ble  abbot  from  the  Shingon  temple  on  the 
hill  be  summoned.  He  came  in  full  regalia 
of  office,  —  splendid  in  crimson  and  gold. 
With  him  were  two  acolytes,  young  and 
slender  figures,  also  in  brocade,  but  with  hoods 
of  a  sort  of  golden  gauze  drawn  forward  so  as 
to  conceal  the  faces  within.  They  bore  in 
cense  burners,  sets  of  the  mystic  vagra,  and 
other  implements  of  esoteric  ceremony.  The 
high  priest  carried  only  his  tall  staff  of  pol 
ished  wood,  tipped  with  brass,  and  surmounted 
by  a  glittering,  symbolic  design,  the  "  Wheel 
of  the  Law,"  the  hub  of  which  is  a  lotos 
flower. 

Tatsu,  at  sight  of  them,  tossed  angrily  on 
his  bed,  railing  aloud,  in  his  thin,  querulous 
voice,  and  scoffing  at  any  power  of  theirs  to 
comfort,  until,  in  spite  of  himself,  a  strange 
calm  seemed  to  move  about  him  and  encircle 
him.  He  listened  to  the  chanted  words,  and 

192 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

the  splendid  invocations,  spoken  in  a  tongue 
older  than  the  very  gods  of  his  own  land,  won 
dering,  the  while,  at  his  own  acquiescence. 
Surely  there  was  a  sweet  presence  in  the  room 
that  held  him  as  a  smile  of  love  might  hold. 
He  was  sorry  when  the  ceremony  came  to  an 
end.  The  abbot,  whispering  to  the  others, 
sent  all  from  the  room  but  himself,  Tatsu,  and 
the  smaller  of  the  acolytes,  who  still  knelt  mo 
tionless  at  the  head  of  the  sick  man's  couch, 
holding  upward  an  incense  burner  in  the  shape 
of  a  lotos  seed-pod.  The  blue  incense  smoke 
breathed  upward,  sank  again  as  if  heavy  with 
its  own  delight,  encircling,  almost  as  if  with 
conscious  intention,  the  kneeling  figure,  and 
then  moved  outward  to  Tatsu  and  the  en 
closing  walls. 

"  My  son,"  began  the  abbot,  leaning  gently 
over  the   bed,  "  I   have  a  message   from  — 


"  No,  no,"  moaned  the  boy,  his  wound 
opening  anew.  "  Do  not  speak  it.  I  was  be 
ginning  to  feel  a  little  peace  from  pain. 

13  193 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Do  not  speak  of  her.  You  can  have  no 
message." 

"  I  have  known  Kano  Ume-ko  her  whole 
life  long,"  persisted  the  holy  man.  "  She  is 
worthy  of  a  nobler  love  than  this  you  are 
giving  her." 

"There  may  be  love  more  noble,  but  none 
— none — more  terrible  than  mine,"  wailed 
out  the  sick  man.  "  I  cannot  even  die.  I  am 
quickened  by  the  flames  that  burn  me  ;  fed 
by  the  viper,  Life,  that  feeds  on  my  despair. 
My  flesh  cankers  with  a  self-renewing  sore ! 

Could  I  but  bathe  my  wounds  in  death ! " 

"  Poor  suffering  one,  this  flesh  is  only  the 
petal  fallen  from  a  perfected  bloom  !  Whether 
her  tender  body,  or  this  racked  and  twitching 
frame  upon  your  bed,  all  flesh  is  illusion. 
Think  of  your  soul  and  its  immortal  lives ! 
Think  of  your  wife's  pure  soul,  and  for  its 
sake  make  effort  to  defy  and  vanquish  this 
demon  of  self-destruction." 

"  Was   not   her   own   deed   that    of    self- 
destruction  ? "  challenged  Tatsu,  his   sunken 
194 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

eyes  set  in  bitter  triumph  upon  the  abbot. 
"  I  shall  but  go  upon  the  road  she  went." 

"To  compare  your  present  motives  with 
your  wife's  is  blasphemy,"  cried  the  other. 
"  Her  deed  held  the  glory  of  self-sacrifice,  that 
you  might  gain  enlightenment;  while  you, 
railing  impotently  here,  giving  out  affront 
against  the  gods,  are  as  the  wild  beast  on  the 
mountain  that  cannot  bear  the  arrow  in  its 
side." 

"  And  it  is  true,"  said  Tatsu,  **  I  cannot 
bear  the  arrow,  —  I  cannot  endure  this  pain. 
Show  me  the  way  to  death,  if  you  have  true 
pity.  Let  me  go  to  her  who  waits  me  in  the 
Meido-land." 

"  She  does  not  wait  you  there,  oh,  grief  de 
luded  boy,"  then  said  the  priest.  "  The  mes 
sage  that  I  brought  is  this :  bound  still  to 
earth  by  her  great  love  for  you  her  soul  is 
near  you, — -in  this  room, — now,  as  I  speak, 
seeking  an  entrance  to  your  heart,  and  these 
wild  railings  hold  her  from  you." 

Tatsu  half  started  from  his  pillow,  and 
195 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

sank  back.  "  I  believe  you  not.  You  trick 
me  as  you  would  a  child,"  he  moaned. 

The  priest  knelt  slowly  by  the  bed.  "  In 
the  name  of  Shaka,  —  whom  I  worship,  — 
these  words  of  mine  are  true.  Here,  in  this 
room,  at  this  moment,  your  Ume-ko  is 
waiting." 

"  But  I  want  her  too,"  whispered  the  pite 
ous  lips.  "  Not  only  her  aerial  spirit !  I  want 
her  smile,  —  her  little  hands  to  touch  me, 
the  golden  echo  of  her  laughter,  —  I  want  my 
wife,  I  say !  Oh,  you  gods,  demons,  preta 
of  a  thousand  hells ! "  he  shrieked,  spring 
ing  to  a  sitting  posture  in  his  bed,  and  beat 
ing  the  air  about  him  with  distracted  hands. 
"  These  are  the  memories  that  whir  down 
and  close  about  me  in  a  cloud  of  stinging 
wasps  !  I  cannot  endure  !  In  the  name  of 
Shaka,  whom  you  worship,  strike  me  dead 
with  the  staff  you  hold,  —  then  will  I  bless 
you  and  believe ! "  In  a  transport  of  mad 
ness,  he  leaned  out,  clutching  at  the  staff, 
clawing  down  the  stiff  robes  from  the  abbot's 
196 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

throat,  snarling,  praying,  menacing  with  a 
vehemence  so  terrible,  that  the  little  acolyte, 
flinging  down  the  still-burning  koro,  screamed 
aloud  for  help. 

It  was  many  hours  before  the  nurses  and 
physicians  could  quiet  this  last  paroxysm. 
Exhaustion  and  a  relapse  followed.  The 
long,  dull  waiting  on  hope  began  anew.  After 
this  no  visitor  but  Kano  was  allowed.  He 
entered  the  sick  chamber  only  at  certain  hours, 
placing  himself  near  the  head  of  the  bed  where 
Tatsu  need  not  see  him.  He  never  spoke 
except  in  answer  to  questions  addressed  him 
directly  by  his  son,  and  these  came  infre 
quently  enough.  With  this  second  slow  re 
turn  to  vitality,  Tatsu's  most  definite  emotion 
seemed  to  be  hatred  of  his  adopted  father. 
He  writhed  at  the  sound  of  that  timid,  ap 
proaching  step,  and  dreaded  the  first  note  of 
the  deprecating  voice. 

Kano  was  fully  aware  of  this  aversion.     He 
realized  that,  perhaps,  it  would  be  better  for 
Tatsu  if  he  did  not  come  at  all ;  yet  in  this 
197 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

one  issue  the  selfishness  of  love  prevailed. 
Age  and  despair  were  to  be  kept  at  bay.  He 
had  no  weapons  but  the  hours  of  comparative 
peace  he  spent  at  Tatsu's  bedside.  Full 
twenty  years  seemed  added  to  the  old  man's 
burden  of  life.  His  back  was  stooped  far 
over ;  his  feet  shuffled  along  the  wooden  cor 
ridors  with  the  sound  of  the  steps  of  one  too 
heavily  burdened.  He  never  walked  now 
without  the  aid  of  his  friendly  bamboo  cane. 
The  threat  of  Tatsu's  self-destruction  echoed 
always  in  his  ears.  Away  from  the  actual 
presence  of  his  idol  it  gnawed  him  like  a  fam 
ished  wolf,  and  his  mind  tormented  itself  with 
fantastic  and  dreadful  possibilities.  Once 
Tatsu  had  hidden  under  his  foreign  pillow  the 
china  bowl  in  which  broth  was  served.  Kano 
whispered  his  discovery  to  the  nurse,  and  when 
she  wondered,  explained  to  her  with  shivering 
earnestness  that  it  was  undoubtedly  the  boy's 
intention  to  break  it  against  the  iron  bed 
stead  the  first  moment  he  was  left  alone,  and 
with  a  shard  sever  one  of  his  veins.  Tatsu 
198 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

grinned  like  a  trapped  badger  when  it  was 
wrested  from  him,  and  said  that  he  would 
find  a  way  in  spite  of  them  all.  After  this 
not  even  a  medicine  bottle  was  left  in  the 
room,  and  the  watch  over  the  invalid  was 
strengthened. 

"  But,"  as  old  Kano  remonstrated,  "  even 
though  we  prevent  him  for  a  few  weeks 
more,  how  will  it  be  when  he  can  stand  and 
walk,  —  when  he  is  stronger  than  I  ? "  To 
these  questions  came  no  answer.  The  second 
convalescence,  so  eagerly  prayed  for,  became 
now  a  source  of  increasing  dread.  Some 
thing  must  be  done,  —  some  way  to  turn  his 
morbid  thoughts  away  from  self-destruction. 
The  old  man  climbed  often,  now,  to  the 
temple  on  the  hill. 

The  hospital  room,  in  an  upper  story,  was 
small,  with  matted  floors,  and  a  single  square 
window  to  the  east.  The  narrow  white  iron 
bed  was  set  close  to  this  window,  so  that  the 
invalid  might  gaze  out  freely.  Tatsu  did  not 
ask  that  it  be  changed  though,  indeed,  each 

199 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

recurrent  dawn  brought  martyrdom  to  him. 
The  sound  of  sparrows  at  the  eaves,  the 
smell  of  dew,  the  look  of  the  morning  mist 
as  it  spread  great  wings  above  the  city, 
hovering  for  an  instant  before  its  flight,  the 
glow  of  the  first  pink  light  upon  his  coverlid, 
each  was  an  iron  of  memory  searing  a  soul 
already  faint  with  pain.  The  attendant  often 
marvelled  why,  at  this  hour,  Tatsu  buried  his 
face  from  sight,  and,  emerging  into  clearer 
day,  bore  the  look  of  one  who  had  met  death 
in  a  narrow  pass. 

At  noon,  when  the  window  showed  a  square 
of  turquoise  blue,  he  grew  to  watch  with 
some  faint  pulse  of  interest  the  changing 
hues  of  light,  and  the  clouds  that  shifted 
lazily  aside,  or  heaped  themselves  up  into 
rounded  battlements  of  snow.  Quite  close 
to  the  window  a  single  cherry  branch,  sweep 
ing  downward,  cut  space  with  a  thick, 
diagonal  line.  Silvery  lichens  frilled  the 
upper  surface  of  the  bark,  and  at  the  tip  of 
each  leafless  twig,  brown  buds  —  small 
200 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

armored  magazines  of  beauty  -  -  hinted  al 
ready  of  the  spring's  rebirth.  Life  was  all 
about  him,  and  he  hated  life.  Why  should 
cherry  blooms  and  sparrows  dare  to  come 
again,  —  why  should  that  old  man  near  him 
wheeze  and  palpitate  with  life,  why  —  why 
— should  he,  Tatsu,  be  held  from  his  one 
friend,  Death,  when  she,  the  essence  of  all 
life  and  beauty,  —  she  who  should  have  been 
immortal,  —  drifted  alone,  helpless,  a  broken 
white  sea-flower,  on  some  black,  awful  tide  ? 

In  the  midst  of  such  dreary  imaginings, 
old  Kano,  late  in  the  last  month  of  the  year, 
crept  in  upon  his  son.  He  was  an  hour 
earlier  than  his  custom.  Also  there  was 
something  unusual,  —  a  new  energy,  perhaps 
a  new  fear,  noticeable  in  face  and  voice. 
But  Tatsu,  still  bleeding  with  his  visions  of 
the  dawn,  saw  nothing  of  this.  The  prema 
ture  visit  irritated  him.  "  Go,  go,"  he  cried, 
turning  his  face  sharply  away.  "  This  is  a  full 
hour  early.  Am  I  to  have  no  moments  to 
myself?" 

201 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

".My  son,  my  son,"  pleaded  the  old  man, 
"  I  have  come  a  little  before  time,  because 
I  have  brought  —  " 

"  Do  not  call  me  son,"  interrupted  the 
petulant  boy.  "It  is  wretchedness  to  look 
upon  you.  She  would  be  here  now,  but  for 
you.  You  killed  her !  You  drove  her  to 
it!" 

"  No,  Tatsu,  you  wrong  me  !     As  I  have 
assured  you,  and  as  her  own  words  say,  - 
she  made  the  sacrifice  from  her  own  heart. 
It  was  that  her  presence  obscured  your  gen 
ius,  my  son.     She   was   unselfish  and  noble 
beyond   all    other    women.     She  —  went  - 
for  your  sake  —  " 

"  For  my  sake  ! "  jeered  the  other.  "  You 
mean,  for  the  sake  of  the  things  you  want 
me  to  paint !  Well,  1  tell  you  again,  I  will 
neither  live  nor  paint !  Yes,  that  touches 
you.  Human  agony  is  nothing  to  your 
heart  of  jade.  You  would  catch  these  tears 
I  shed  to  mix  a  new  pigment !  You  do  not 
regret  her.  You  would  think  the  price 
202 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

cheap,  if  only  I  will  paint.  I  hate  all  pic 
tures  !  I  curse  the  things  I  have  done ! 
Would  that,  indeed,  I  had  the  tongue  of  a 
dragon,  that  I  might  lick  them  from  the 
silk ! " 

"  Tatsu,  my  poor  son,  be  less  violent. 
I  urge  nothing !  The  gods  must  do  with 
you  as  they  will,  but  here  is  something  — 
a  letter  —  "  Fumbling,  with  shaking  fingers, 
in  his  long,  black  sleeve,  he  drew  out  a  filmy, 
white  rectangle.  The  look  of  it,  so  like  to 
one  pinned  to  a  certain  pillow  in  the  dawn, 
sent  a  new  thrill  of  misery  through  the  boy. 

"  A  letter !  Who  would  write  me  a  letter, 
—  unless  souls  in  the  Meido-land  can  write ! 
Back,  back, —  do  not  touch  me,  or  ere  I 
kill  myself  I  will  find  strength  to  slay  you 
first.  I  will  drag  you  with  me  to  the  under 
world,  as  1  journey  in  searching  for  my  wife, 
and  fling  your  craven  soul  to  devils,  as  one 
would  fling  offal  to  a  dog  !  Speak  not  to 
me  of  painting,  nor  of  her ! " 

At  the  sight  of  extra  attendants  hurrying 
203 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

in,  Tatsu  waved  them  to  leave  him,  threw 
himself  back,  stark,  upon  the  pillow,  and 
closed  his  eyes  so  tightly  that  the  wrinkles 
radiated  in  black  lines  from  the  corners.  He 
panted  heavily,  as  from  a  long  race.  His 
forehead  twitched  and  throbbed  with  purple 
veins. 

Flung  down  cruelly  from  the  exhilaration 
which  a  moment  before  had  been  his,  old 
Kano  seated  himself  on  a  chair  directly  in 
sight  of  Tatsu's  bed.  The  nurses  stole  away, 
leaving  the  two  men  together.  Each  re 
mained  motionless,  except  for  hurried  breath 
ing,  and  the  pulsing  of  distended  veins.  A 
crow,  perched  on  the  cherry  branch  outside 
the  window,  tilted  a  cold,  inquisitive  eye  into 
the  room. 

Tatsu  was  the  first  to  move.  The  reaction 
of  excitement  was  creeping  upon  him,  draw 
ing  the  sting  from  pain.  He  turned  toward 
his  visitor  and  began  to  study,  with  an  im 
personal  curiosity,  the  aspect  of  the  pathetic 
figure.  Kano  was  sitting,  utterly  relaxed,  at 
204 


the  edge  of  the  cane-bottomed  foreign  chair. 
His  head  hung  forward,  and  his  lids  were 
closed.  For  the  first  time  Tatsu  noted  how 
scanty  and  how  white  his  hair  had  grown  ; 
how  thin  and  wrinkled  the  fine  old  face. 
Something  akin  to  compassion  rose  warm 
and  human  in  the  looker's  throat.  He  had 
opened  his  lips  to  speak  kindly  (it  would 
have  been  the  first  gentle  word  since  Ume's 
loss)  when  the  sight  of  his  name,  in  hand 
writing,  on  the  letter,  froze  the  very  air 
about  him,  and  held  him  for  an  instant 
a  prisoner  of  fear.  The  envelope  dangled 
loosely  from  Kano's  fingers.  On  it  was 
traced,  in  Ume-ko's  beautiful,  unmistakable 
hand,  "For  my  beloved  husband,  Kano 
Tatsu." 

"  The  letter,  the  letter,"  he  cried  hoarsely, 
pointing  downward.  "  It  is  mine,  —  give 
it!" 

Kano  raised  his  head.  The  reaction  of  ex 
citement  was  on  him  too,  and  it  had  brought 
for  him  a  patient  hopelessness.  It  did  not 
205 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

seem  to  matter  a  great  deal  just  now  what 
Tatsu  did  or  thought.  He  would  never 
paint.  That  alone  was  enough  blackness 
to  fill  a  hell  of  everlasting  night. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  insisted  the  boy,  leaning 
far  out  over  the  bed.  "  Did  you  bring  it 
only  to  torture  me  ?  Quick,  quick,  —  it  is 
mine  ! " 

"  I  brought  it  to  give,  and  you  repulsed 
me.  I  had  found  it  but  this  morning,  in 
your  painting  room,  pinned  to  a  silken  frame 
on  which  you  had  begun  her  picture  !  She 
must  have  put  it  there  before — before — " 

"  If  you  have  a  shred  of  pity  or  of  love  for 
me,  give  it  and  go,"  gasped  the  boy. 

Kano  rose  with  slow  dignity.  "  Yes,  it  is 
for  you,  and  I  will  give  it  and  leave,  as  you 
ask,  if  I  can  have  your  promise — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  promise  everything,  —  any 
thing,  —  I  will  not  strive  to  slay  myself,  — 
at  least  until  after  your  return  —  " 

"That  is  enough,"  said  the  old  man,  and 
with  a  sigh  held  the  missive  out.  Tatsu 
206 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

snatched  it  through  the  air.  The  perfume 
of  plum  blossoms  was  stealing  from  it. 
Once  alone  he  crushed  the  delicate  tissue 
against  eyes  and  lips  and  throat.  He  rolled 
upon  the  bed  in  agony,  only  to  press  again 
to  his  heart  this  balm  of  her  written  words. 
It  seemed  to  him,  then,  that  the  letter  might 
really  have  come  from  the  Meido-land. 
Could  it  be  true,  as  the  old  priest  said,  that 
her  soul  continually  hovered  near,  waiting 
only  for  him  to  give  it  recognition  ?  "  Ume, 
Ume, — my  wife!  Come  back  to  me!"  he 
cried  aloud  in  an  agony  so  great  that  it 
should  drag  her  backward  through  that 
dark  shadow- world,  —  not  only  the  phantom 
of  what  she  was,  but  Ume-ko  herself,  with 
the  flower-like  body,  and  the  smile  of  light. 
He  opened  the  missive  slowly,  that  not  a 
shred  should  be  torn,  and  spread  the  thin 
tissue  smoothly  on  his  foreign  pillow. 

"  This,  beloved,  being  the  forty-ninth  day, 
—the  seven-times-seventh-day  after  my  pass 
ing, — when  souls  of  those  departed  are  given 
207 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

special  privilege  to  return  to  earth,  I  speak 
thus,  dumbly,  to  my  lord.  Although  the 
fingers  tracing  now  these  timid  lines  are 
not  permitted  to  touch  you,  oh,  believe 
that,  as  you  read,  I  wait  at  the  door  of 
your  heart.  O  thou  who  art  so  dear,  give 
to  me,  I  pray,  a  shelter  and  a  habitation. 
Then,  because  of  my  great  love,  I  shall  be 
one  with  you,  bringing  you  comfort  and 
myself  great  blessedness.  O  thou,  who  art 
still  my  husband,  I  beseech  you  to  realize 
that  any  act  on  your  part  of  violence  and 
self-destruction  will  hurl  our  lives  apart  to 
the  full  width  of  the  ten  existences;  so  that, 
through  another  thousand  years  of  unfulfil- 
ment  we  shall  be  groping  in  the  dark,  like 
children  who  have  lost  their  way,  calling 
ever,  each  on  the  name  of  the  other. 

"The  birds  of  the  air  know,  when  storms 
arise,  where  to  find  their  nests.  Even  the 
fox  has  shelter  in  the  hill.  Shall  the  soul 
of  Ume-ko  seek  and  find  no  shelter?  Send 
me  not  forth  again  in  lonely  travail!  Open 
208 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

your  heart  to  me,  O  thou  who  art  loved 
as  no  man  was  ever  loved  before  thee ! 
Ume-ko." 

Kano,  listening  at  the  door,  thought  that 
the  boy  had  fainted.  One  nurse,  then 
another,  crept  near.  At  last  the  old  man, 
unable  to  endure  the  strain,  peered  through 
a  crevice.  He  fell  back  instantly,  pressing 
both  hands  upon  his  mouth  to  stifle  the  cry 
of  joy.  Tatsu  alive,  awake,  with  eyes  opened 
wide,  gazed  upward  smiling,  as  into  the  face 
of  Buddha. 


14  209 


X 

THE  New  Year  festival,  Shogatsu,  had 
come  and  gone :  white-flower  buds 
gleamed  like  pearls  on  the  lichen- 
covered,  twisted  limbs  of  the  old  "  dragon  - 
plum  "  by  time's  chamber  ledge,  when  Tatsu 
and  his  adopted  father  entered  once  more  to 
gether  the  little  Kano  home.  If  the  young 
husband  had  realized,  all  along,  what  this 
coming  ordeal  might  mean,  he  had  given  no 
sign  of  it.  Kano  and  the  physicians  feared 
for  him.  The  last  test,  it  was  to  be,  of  sanity 
and  of  endurance.  The  actual  hour  of  de 
parture  from  the  hospital  fell  late  in  January. 
More  than  once  before  a  day  had  been  de 
creed,  only  to  be  postponed  because  of  a  sud 
den  physical  weakening  —  mysterious  and 
apparently  without  cause  —  on  the  part  of 
the  patient. 

210 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  I  will  return  with  you  as  soon  as  I  may," 
Tatsu  had  assured  his  father  on  the  day  of 
reading  Ume's  letter.  "  I  will  try  to  live,  and 
even  to  paint.  Only,  I  pray  you,  speak  not 
the  name  of — her  I  have  lost." 

This  promise  was  given  willingly  enough. 
Kano's  chief  difficulty  now  was  to  hide  his 
growing  happiness.  It  was  much  to  his 
interest  that  the  subject  of  Ume  be  avoided. 
Even  a  dragon  painter  from  the  mountains 
must  know  something  of  certain  primitive 
obligations  to  the  dead,  and  for  Ume  not 
even  an  ihai  had  been  set  up  by  that  of  her 
mother  in  the  family  shrine.  When  Tatsu 
learned  this  he  would  marvel,  and  probably 
be  angry.  If  by  his  own  condition  of  silence 
he  were  debarred  from  attacking  Kano,  so 
much  the  better  for  Kano. 

It  was  this  disgraceful  and  unheard-of  neg 
ligence  —  a  matter  already  of  common  gossip 
in  the  neighborhood  —  that  added  the  last 
measure  of  bitterness  to  old  Mata's  grief. 
Was  her  master  demented  through  sorrow 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

that  he  so  challenged  public  censure,  and  was 
willing  to  cast  dishonor  upon  the  name  of  his 
only  child  ?  Hour  after  hour  in  the  lonely 
house  did  the  old  dame  seek  to  piece  together 
the  broken  edges  of  her  shattered  faith.  The 
master  had  always  been  a  religious  man,  over- 
zealous,  she  had  thought,  in  minute  observ 
ances.  Yet  now  he  was  willing  to  neglect, 
to  ignore,  the  very  fundamental  principles  of 
social  decency.  Personally  he  had  seemed 
wretched  enough  after  Ume's  loss.  The 
kindly  neighbors  had  at  first  marvelled  aloud 
at  his  whitening  hair  and  heavily  burdened 
frame.  Mata,  pleased  at  the  sympathy,  did 
nothing  to  distract  it ;  but  in  her  heart  she 
knew  that  it  was  Tatsu's  illness,  not  his 
daughter's  death,  that  bore  upon  old  Kano 
like  the  winter  snow  upon  his  pines. 

On  that  most  sacred  period  of  mourning, 
the  seven-times-seventh  day  after  "  divine 
retirement,"  when  the  spirit  is  privileged  to 
enter  most  closely  into  the  hearts  of  those 
that  pray,  Mata  had  believed  that,  beyond 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

doubt,  the  full  ceremony  would  be  held. 
Surely  the  sweet,  wandering  soul  was  now  to 
be  given  its  kaimyo,  was  to  be  soothed  by 
prayer,  and  be  refreshed  by  the  ghostly  essence 
of  tea  and  rice  and  fruit,  placed  before  its 
ihai  upon  the  shrine  !  What  must  the  dead 
girl's  mother  have  been  thinking  all  this  time  ? 
JMata  woke  before  the  dawn  to  pray.  Kano, 
too,  was  awake  early.  She  hurried  to  him, 
her  first  words  a  petition.  But,  no,  he  had 
no  thought,  even  on  this  day  of  all  days,  for 
his  child.  He  was  off  without  his  breakfast, 
an  hour  earlier  than  usual,  to  the  hospital,  a 
letter  in  his  hand.  Mata  literally  fell  upon 
her  knees  before  him,  importuning  him  for  the 
honor  of  the  family  name,  if  not  in  love  for 
Ume-ko,  to  give  orders  at  the  temple  for  the 
holding  of  religious  ceremonies.  But  Kano, 
himself  almost  in  tears,  eager,  excited,  though 
obviously  in  quite  another  whirlpool  of  emo 
tions,  urged  her  to  be  patient  just  a  little 
longer.  "  I  think  all  will  yet  be  well,"  he 
assured  her.  "  I  have  some  hope  to-day ! " 
213 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"  All  will  yet  be  well ! "  mocked  the  old 
dame  through  clenched  teeth,  watching  the 
bent  old  figure  hurrying  from  her.  "  As  if 
anything  could  ever  again  be  well,  with  my 
young  mistress  dead,  and  not  even  her  body 
recovered  for  burial  1 " 

In  spite  of  her  dislike  for  Tatsu,  the  lonely 
woman  found  herself  watching,  with  some 
impatience,  for  the  day  of  his  actual  return. 
Successive  postponements  had  fretted  her, 
and  sharpened  curiosity.  She  had  not  seen 
him  since  his  illness.  Upon  that  January 
noon  when  his  kuruma  rolled  slowly  in  under 
the  gate-roof,  followed  by  anxious  Kano  and 
one  of  the  male  nurses  from  the  hospital,  she 
had  turned  toward  him  the  old  look  of  resent 
ment  :  but,  instead  of  the  brief  and  chilling 
glance  she  had  thought  to  use,  found  herself 
staring,  gaping,  in  amazement  and  incredulity. 
She  did  not  believe,  for  the  first  moment, 
that  the  wreck  she  saw  was  Tatsu.  This 
bowed  and  shrunken  ghost  of  suffering,  —  this 
loose,  pallid  semblance  of  a  man,  the  beau- 
214 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

tiful,  defiant,  compelling  demigod  of  the 
mountains  that  had  swept  down  upon  them  ! 
No !  sorrow  could  wreak  miracles  of  the 
soul,  but  no  such  physical  transformation  as 
this! 

She  continued  to  watch  furtively,  in  a  sort 
of  terror,  the  tall  figure  as  it  was  assisted 
from  the  kuruma  and  led,  shambling,  through 
the  house.  The  three  moved  on  to  the  wing 
containing  Ume's  chamber,  and  the  painting 
room.  Mata  heard  the  fusuma  close  gently, 
the  nurse's  voice  give  admonition  to  "keep 
his  spirit  strong  for  this  last  stress,"  heard  old 
Kano  falter,  "  Farewell,  my  son,  no  one  shall 
disturb  you  in  these  rooms,"  and  had  barely 
time  to  regain  her  presence  of  mind  as  the 
two  men,  Kano  and  the  nurse,  entered  her 
kitchen.  The  former  spoke :  "  Mata,  your 
young  master  is  to  remain,  unmolested,  in 
that  part  of  the  house.  Do  not  offer  him 
rice,  or  tea,  or  anything  whatever.  When  he 
needs  and  desires  it  he  will  himself  emerge 
and  ask  for  food.  Above  all  things,  do  not 
215 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

knock  upon  his  fusuma  or  call  his  name. 
These  are  the  physician's  orders." 

"  Exactly  1 "  corroborated  the  nurse,  with  a 
professional  air. 

"  Kashikomarimashita  1 "  muttered  the  old 
dame  in  sullen  acquiescence.  "  You  need 
not  have  feared  that  /  should  intrude  upon 
him  ! " 

For  three  days  and  nights  Tatsu  remained 
to  himself.  The  anxious  listeners  heard  at 
times  the  sound  of  restless  pacing  up  and 
down,  —  the  thin,  sibilant  noise  of  stockinged 
feet  sliding  on  padded  straw.  Again  there 
would  be  a  thud,  as  of  a  body  fallen,  or  sunken 
heavily  to  the  floor.  Kano,  on  the  second 
day,  pale  with  apprehension,  went  early  to 
the  hospital  for  a  revocation,  or  at  least  a 
modification  of  the  instructions.  The  doctor's 
mandate  was  the  same,  "  Do  not  go  near  him. 
Life,  as  well  as  reason,  may  depend  upon  this 
battle  with  his  own  despair.  Only  the  gods 
can  help  him."  To  the  gods,  then,  Kano 
went  as  well ;  climbing  the  long,  steep  road 

216 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

to  the  temple,  where  he  made  offerings  and 
poured  out  from  his  anxious  heart  the  very 
essence  of  loving  prayer. 

On  the  third  day,  Kano  being  thus  absent, 
and  old  Mata  alone  in  her  kitchen  as  nervous, 
she  would  have  told  you,  as  a  fish  with  half  its 
scales  off,  she  heard  the  fusuma  of  the  distant 
room  shudder,  and  then,  with  a  sound  of  feeble 
jerks,  begin  to  separate.  She  knew  that  it 
was  Tatsu,  and  rallied  herself  for  the  approach. 
Through  the  shaded  corridor  came  a  figure 
scarcely  animate,  moving  it  would  seem  in 
answer  to  a  soundless  call.  It  entered  the 
kitchen  halting,  and  looking  about  as  one 
in  an  unfamiliar  place.  On  a  square  stone 
brasier,  fed  with  glowing  coals,  the  rice-pot 
steamed.  The  delicate  vapor,  tinged  with 
aroma  of  the  cooking  food,  made  a  fine  mist 
in  the  air.  Suddenly  he  thrust  an  arm  out 
toward  the  fire.  "  Rice !  —  I  am  faint  with  hun 
ger,"  he  whispered.  As  if  the  few  words  had 
taken  his  last  store  of  strength,  he  sank  to  the 
floor.  Mata  sprang  to  him.  He  had  swooned. 
217 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

His  face,  young  and  beautiful  in  spite  of  the 
centuries  of  pain  upon  it,  lay  back,  helpless, 
on  her  arm.  She  stared  strangely  down  upon 
him,  wondering  where  the  old  antipathy  had 
gone,  and  striving  (for  she  was  an  obstinate 
old  soul,  was  Mata)  consciously  to  recall  it,  — 
but  the  core  of  her  hate  was  gone.  Like  a 
true  woman  she  began  to  make  self-excuses 
for  the  change.  "  It  may  have  been  because 
of  this  poor  boy  and  his  unhappy  karma  that 
my  nursling  had  to  die,"  said  she.  "  But,  look 
what  love  has  done  to  him !  Death  is  only 
another  name  for  paradise  compared  with  the 
agony  sunken  deep  into  this  young  face  ! " 

She  placed  him  gently,  at  full  length,  upon 
the  padded  floor.  She  chafed  the  flaccid 
wrists,  the  temples,  the  veins  about  his  ears, 
and  then,  leaning  over,  blew  on  the  heavy 
lids.  "  Ume-ko,  my  wife,  my  wife,"  he 
whispered,  and  tried  to  smile. 

A  wave  of  pity  swept  from  the  old  dame's 
mind  the  last  barrier  of  mistrust.  "  Yes, 
Master,  here  is  Ume's  nurse,"  she  said  in 
218 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

soothing  tones.  "  Not  Ume-ko,  —  she  has 
gone  away  from  us, — but  the  poor  old  nurse 
who  loves  her.  I  will  serve  you  for  her 
sake.  Here,  put  your  head  upon  this 
pillow,  —  she  has  often  used  it, — and  now 
lie  still  until  old  Mata  brings  you  rice  and 
tea."  She  bustled  off,  her  hands  clattering 
busily  among  the  cups  and  trays.  As  she 
worked,  thankful,  through  her  great  agita 
tion,  for  the  familiar  offices,  she  fought 
down,  one  by  one,  those  great,  distending 
sobs  that  push  so  hard  a  way  upward  through 
wrinkled  throats. 

Tatsu  was  still  a  little  dazed.  His  eyes 
followed  her  about  the  room  with  a  plain 
tive  regard,  as  if  not  entirely  sure  that  she 
was  real.  "  Did  you  say  that  you  were — 
time's  —  nurse,"  he  asked. 

"  Yes.  Don't  you  remember  me,  Master 
Tatsu  ?  I  am  Mata,  the  old  servant,  and 
your  Ume's  nurse.  I  —  I — was  not  always 
kind  to  you,  I  fear.  I  opposed  your  mar 
riage,  fearing  for  her  some  such  sorrow 
219 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

as  that  which  came.  But  it  is  past.  The 
gods  allowed  it.  I  will  now,  for  her  sake, 
love  and  serve  you,  —  my  true  master  you 
shall  be  from  this  day,  because  I  can  see  that 
your  heart  is  gnawed  forever  by  that  black 
moth,  grief,  as  mine  is.  Old  Kano  does  not 
grieve,  —  he  is  a  man  of  stone,  of  mud  !  "  she 
cried.  "  But  I  must  not  speak  of  his  sins, 
yet ;  here  is  the  good  tea,  Master,  and  the 
rice."  She  fed  him  like  a  child,  allowing, 
at  first,  but  a  single  sip  of  tea,  a  grain  or 
two  of  rice.  He,  in  his  weakness,  was  gentle 
and  obedient,  like  a  good  child,  eating  all  she 
bade  him,  and  refraining  when  she  told  him 
that  he  had  enough.  It  was  a  new  Tatsu 
that  sorrow  had  given  to  the  Kano  home. 

But  more  wonderful  than  the  transforma 
tion  in  him  was,  in  Mata's  thought,  the  com 
plete  reversal  of  her  own  emotions.  Even  in 
the  midst  of  service  she  stopped  to  wonder 
how,  so  soon,  it  could  be  sweet  to  serve 
him,  —  to  minister  thus  to  the  man  she  had 
called  the  evil  genius  of  the  house.  In  some 
220 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

mysterious  way  it  seemed  that  through  him 
the  dead  young  wife  was  being  served.  In 
the  smile  he  bent  upon  her,  the  old  nurse 
fancied  that  she  caught  a  tenderness  as  of 
Ume's  smile.  Perhaps,  indeed,  the  homeless 
soul,  denied  its  usual  shelter  in  the  shrine, 
made  sanctuary  of  the  husband's  earthly 
frame.  Perhaps,  too,  Kano  had  hoped  for 
this,  and  so  refused  the  ihai.  However  these 
high  things  might  be,  Mata  knew  she  had 
gained  strange  comfort  in  the  very  fact  of 
Tatsu' s  presence,  in  the  companionship  of 
his  suffering. 

When,  being  nourished,  Tatsu  insisted  on 
sitting  upright,  and  had  recalled  the  scene 
about  him,  his  first  question  was  of  Ume's 
shrine,  where  the  ihai  had  been  set,  and 
what  the  kaimyo.  This  loosened  Mata's 
tongue,  and,  with  a  sensation  of  deep  relief, 
she  began  to  empty  her  heart  of  its  pent- 
up  acrimony.  Tatsu  listened  now,  atten 
tively  ;  not  as  would  have  been  his  way 
three  months  before  with  gesticulations  and 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

frequent  interruptions,  but  gravely,  with  con 
sideration,  as  one  intent  to  learn  the  whole 
before  forming  an  opinion.  Even  at  the 
end  he  would  say  nothing  but  the  words, 
"  Strange,  strange ;  there  must  be  a  reason 
that  you  have  not  guessed." 

"  But  we  will  get  the  ihai,  will  we  not, 
Master  ?  Together,  when  you  are  strong, 
we  will  climb  the  long  road  to  the  temple  ? " 
she  questioned  tremulously. 

"  Indeed  we  shall,"  said  Tatsu,  with 
his  heartrending  smile ;  "  for  at  best,  the 
thoughts  of  Kano  Indara  cannot  be  our 
thoughts.  He  let  her  die." 

At  this  the  other  burst  into  such  a 
passion  of  tears  that  she  could  not  speak, 
but  rocked,  sobbing,  to  and  fro,  on  the  mats 
beside  him.  He  wondered,  with  a  feeling 
not  far  from  envy,  at  this  open  demonstration 
of  distress. 

"  I  cannot  weep  at  all,"  he  said.     Then,  a 
little  later,  when  she  had  become  more  calm, 
"  Are  your  tears  for  me  or  for  Ume-ko  ?  " 
222 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

"For  both,  for  both,"  was  the  sobbing 
answer.  "  For  her,  that  she  had  to  die,  — 
for  you,  that  you  must  live." 

"  Both  are  things  to  weep  for,"  said  the  boy, 
and  stared  out  straight  before  him,  as  one 
seeing  a  long  road. 

Kano,  returning  later  and  finding  the  two 
together,  marking  as  he  did,  at  once,  with  the 
quick  eye  of  love,  how  health  already  cast 
faint  premonitions  of  a  flush  upon  the  boy's 
thin  face,  had  much  ado  to  keep  from  crying 
aloud  his  joy  and  gratitude.  By  strong  effort 
only  did  he  succeed  in  making  his  greeting 
calm.  He  used  stilted,  old-fashioned  phrases 
of  ceremony  to  one  recently  recovered  from 
dangerous  illness,  and  bowed  as  to  a  mere  ac 
quaintance.  Tatsu,  returning  the  bows  and 
phrases,  escaped  in  a  few  moments  to  his 
room,  and  emerged  no  more  that  day.  Kano 
sighed  a  little,  for  the  young  face  had  been 
cold  and  stern.  No  love  was  to  be  looked 
for,  —  not  yet,  not  yet. 

For  a  few  days  Tatsu  did  nothing  but  lie 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

on  the  mats ;  or  wander,  aimlessly,  over  the 
house  and  garden.  He  came  whenever  Mata 
summoned  him  to  meals,  and  ate  them  with 
old  Kano,  observing  all  outer  semblances  of 
respect.  But  it  seemed  an  automaton  who 
sat  there,  eating,  drinking,  and  then,  at  the 
last,  bowing  over  to  the  exact  fraction  of  an 
inch,  each  time,  and  moving  away  to  its  own 
rooms.  The  old  artist,  mindful  of  certain 
professional  warnings  from  the  hospital  phy 
sicians,  never  spoke  in  Tatsu's  presence  of 
paintings,  or  of  anything  connected  with  art. 
Within  a  few  days  it  seemed  to  him  that 
Tatsu  had  begun  to  watch  him  keenly,  as  if 
expecting,  every  instant,  the  broaching  of  that 
subject  which  he  knew  was  always  uppermost 
in  the  other's  mind.  But  the  old  man,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  whole  life,  had  begun  to  use 
tact.  He  never  followed  Tatsu  to  his  rooms, 
never  intruded  into  those  long  conversations 
now  held,  many  times  a  day,  between  Mata 
and  her  young  master ;  never  even  commented 
to  Mata  upon  her  change  of  attitude.  About 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

five  days  after  his  first  appearance  in  the 
kitchen,  Tatsu  and  the  old  servant  left  the 
house  together,  giving  Kano  no  hint  of  their 
destination.  He  watched  them  with  a  curi 
ous  expression  on  his  face.  He  knew  that 
they  were  to  climb  together  to  the  temple, 
and  that  it  was  a  pilgrimage  from  which  he  was 
contemptuously  debarred.  They  returned, 
some  hours  later,  and  were  busied  all  the 
afternoon  with  the  placing  and  decorations  of 
an  exquisite  "  butsu-dan,"  or  Buddhist  shelf, 
on  which  the  ihai  of  the  dead  are  placed.  At 
the  abbot's  advice  (and  yet  against  all  prece 
dent)  this  was  put,  not  beside  the  butsu-dan, 
where  Kano's  young  wife  had  for  so  many 
years  been  honored,  but  in  Tatsu's  own  bed 
chamber,  thus  making  of  it  a  "  mita-yama," 
or  spirit  room. 

Kano,  visiting  it,  unperceived,  next  day, 
noted  with  the  same  curious,  half-quizzical, 
half-pathetic  look  that  no  Buddhist  kaimyo  or 
after-name  had  been  given  to  his  daughter.  It 
was  the  earth-name,  Kano  Ume-ko,  which  the 
'5  225 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

old  abbot  had  written  upon  the  lacquered 
tablet  of  wood.  Added  to  it,  as  a  sort  of 
title,  was  the  phrase,  "  To  her  who  loves 
much."  "  That  is  true  enough,"  thought  old 
Kano,  and  touched  his  eyes  an  instant  with 
his  sleeve. 

During  the  following  week  Tatsu,  of  him 
self,  drew  out  his  painting  materials  and  tried 
to  work.  An  instant  later  he  had  hurled  the 
things  from  him  with  a  cry,  had  slammed 
together  the  walls  of  his  chamber,  and  lay  in 
silence  and  darkness  for  many  hours.  At 
the  time  of  the  night-meal  he  came  forth. 
Kano,  to  whom  sorrow  was  teaching  many 
things,  made  no  comment  upon  his  exclusion ; 
and  even  old  Mata  refrained  from  searching 
his  face  with  her  keen  eyes. 

The  next  day  he  made  the  second  attempt. 
His  fusuma  were  opened,  and  Mata  could  see 
how  his  face  blanched  to  yellow  wax,  how  the 
lips  writhed  until  they  were  caught  back  by 
strong,  cruel  teeth,  and  how  the  thin  hands 
wavered.  Notwithstanding  this  inward  tor- 
226 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ture,  he  persisted.  At  first  the  lines  of  his 
brush  were  feeble.  His  work  looked  like 
that  of  a  child. 

Through  subsequent  days  of  discourage 
ment  and  brave  effort  his  power  of  painting 
grew  with  a  slow  but  normal  splendor  of 
achievement.  His  fame  began  to  spread. 
The  "  New  Kano  "  and  "  The  Dragon  Painter 
of  Kiu  Shiu "  the  people  of  the  city  called 
him.  Not  only  his  work  but  his  romantic, 
miserable  story  drew  sympathy  to  him,  and 
bade  fair  to  make  of  him  a  popular  idol. 
Older  artists  wished  to  paint  his  portrait. 
Print-makers  hung  about  his  house  striving 
to  catch  at  least  a  glimpse  of  him,  which  be 
ing  elaborated,  might  serve  as  his  likeness  in 
the  weekly  supplement  of  some  up-to-date 
newspaper.  Sentimental  maidens  wrote 
poems  to  him,  tied  them  with  long,  shining 
filaments  of  hair,  and  suspended  them  to  the 
gate,  or  upon  the  bamboo  hedges  of  the  Kano 
home. 

But  against  all  these  petty,  personal  an- 
227 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

noyances  Tatsu  had  the  double  guard  of 
Kano  and  old  Mata  San.  The  pride  of  the 
latter  in  this  "  Son  of  our  house "  was  un 
bounded.  One  would  have  thought  that  she 
discovered  him,  had  rescued  him  from  death 
and  that  it  was  now  through  her  sole  influ 
ence  his  reputation  as  an  artist  grew.  Noble 
patrons  came  to  the  little  cottage  bearing  rolls 
of  white  silk,  upon  which  they  entreated 
humbly,  "  That  the  illustrious  and  honor 
able  young  painter,  Kano  Tatsu,  would  some 
day,  when  he  might  not  be  augustly  incon 
venienced  by  so  doing,  trace  a  leaf  or  a 
cloud,  —  anything,  in  fact,  that  fancy  could 
suggest,  so  that  it  was  the  work  of  his  own 
inimitable  hand.  For  the  condescension  they 
trusted  that  he  would  allow  them  to  give 
a  present  of  money,  —  as  large  a  sum  as  he 
was  willing  to  name." 

"  A  second   Sesshu  !     A  second   Sesshu  1 " 
old  Kano  would  murmur  to  himself,  in  sub 
dued  ecstacy.     "  So  did  they  load  his  ship 
with  silk,  four  centuries  ago  I " 
228 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Of  most  of  these  commissions,  Tatsu  never 
heard.  Kano  did  not  wish  the  boy's  work  to 
be  blown  wide  over  the  great  city  as  it  had 
been  blown  along  the  mountain  slopes  of 
Kiu  Shiu.  Nor  did  he  wish  the  thought  of 
gain  or  of  personal  ambition  to  creep  into 
Tatsu's  heart.  Now  he  spent  most  of  the 
day-lit  hours  secluded  in  his  little  study, 
painting  those  scenes  and  motives  suggested 
by  the  keynote  of  his  mood.  Of  late  he  had 
begun  to  read,  with  deep  interest,  the  various 
essays  on  art,  gathered  in  Kano's  small, 
choice  library.  He  would  sometimes  talk 
with  his  father  about  art,  and  let  the  eager 
old  man  demonstrate  to  him  the  different 
brush-strokes  of  different  masters.  The 
widely  diversified  schools  of  painting  as  they 
had  flourished  throughout  the  centuries  of 
his  country's  social  and  religious  life  aroused 
in  him  an  impersonal  curiosity.  He  began 
to  try  experiments,  realizing,  perhaps,  that  to 
a  genius  strong  and  sane  as  his  even  fantastic 
ventures  in  technique  were  little  more  than 
229 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

bright  images   flecking,  for  an  instant,  the 
immutable   surface   of  a   mirror. 

All  methods  were  essayed,  —  the  liquid, 
flowing  line  of  the  Chinese  classics,  Tosa's 
nervous,  shattered  lightning-strokes  of  painted 
motion,  the  soft,  gray  reveries  of  the 
great  Kano  school  of  three  centuries  before, 
when,  to  the  contemplative  mind  all  forms  of 
nature,  whether  of  the  outer  universe  or  in 
the  soul  of  man,  were  but  reflecting  mirrors 
of  a  single  faith ;  the  heaped-up  gold  and 
malachite  of  Korin's  decoration,  sweet  real 
istic  studies  of  the  Shijo  school,  even  down 
to  the  horrors  of  "  abura-ye,"  oil-painting,  as 
it  is  practised  in  the  Yeddo  of  to-day,  each 
had  for  him  its  special  interest  and  its  inspi 
ration.  He  leaned  above  the  treasure-chests 
of  time,  choosing  from  one  and  then  another, 
as  a  wise  old  jewel-setter  chooses  gems.  Be 
cause  ambition,  art,  existence  had  come  to 
be,  for  him,  gray  webs  spun  thin  across  the 
emptiness  of  his  days,  because  all  hope  of 
earthly  joy  was  gone,  he  had  now  the  power 
230 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

to  trace,  with  almost  superhuman  mimicry 
and  skill,  the  shadow-pictures  of  his  shadow- 
world. 

Yet  gradually  it  became  not  merely  a  dull 
necessity  to  paint,  the  one  barrier  that  held 
from  him  a  devastating  grief,  but  also  some 
thing  of  a  solace.  The  room  where  Ume's 
ever-lighted  shrine  was  kept  came  more  and 
more  to  seem  the  expression  of  herself.  This 
the  old  priest  had  promised ;  Ume's  letter 
had  assured  him  that  thus  she  would  be  near. 
In  the  blurred,  purple  hour  of  dusk  when 
paints  must  be  laid  aside,  and  the  heart  given 
over  to  dreaming,  the  little  room  became  her 
very  earthly  entity,  the  soft,  smoke-tinted 
walls  her  breathing,  the  elastic  matted  floor 
but  the  remembered  echoes  of  her  feet,  the 
sliding  sliver  fusuma  her  sleeves,  the  butsu- 
dan,  with  its  small,  clear  lamp,  its  white 
wood,  and  its  flowers,  her  face. 

Now  always  he  kept  the  walls  that  used  to 
separate  their  chamber  and  his  painting  room 
removed ;  so  that  a  single  essence  filled  both 
231 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

rooms.  And  here,  as  lie  worked  silently  day 
after  day,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  had 
learned  to  come.  At  first  shy,  undecided,  in 
some  far  corner  of  the  space  she  watched  him  ; 
then,  taking  courage,  would  drift  near.  She 
leaned  now  by  his  shoulder,  as  he  worked. 
Always  it  was  the  left  shoulder.  He  could 
feel  her  breath  —  colder  indeed  than  from 
a  living  woman  —  upon  his  bared  throat. 
Sometimes  a  little  hand,  light  as  the  dust 
upon  a  moth's  wing,  rested  the  ghost  of  a 
moment  on  his  robe.  Once,  he  could  have 
sworn  her  cheek  had  touched  his  hair.  So 
strong  was  this  impression  that  an  ague  shiv 
ered  through  him,  and  his  heart  stopped,  only 
to  beat  again  with  violent  strokes.  When  the 
physical  tremor  was  over  he  arose,  took  up 
her  round  metal  mirror,  and  went  to  the  ve 
randa  to  see  by  strong  light  whether  any 
trace  of  the  spirit  touch  remained.  No,  there 
was  only,  as  usual,  the  tossed,  black  locks  of 
hair  through  which  sorrow  had  begun  to 
weave  her  silver  strands. 
232 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

January,  with  its  snows,  had  passed.  The 
plum-tree  buds  had  opened,  one  by  one,  in 
the  chill,  early  winds  of  spring,  giving  at 
times  unwilling  hospitality  to  flakes  of  snow 
whiter  than  themselves.  In  Februaiy,  under 
warmer  sunshine,  the  blossoms  showed  in  con 
stellations,  a  myriad  on  a  single  branch. 
Then,  all  too  soon,  the  falling  of  wan  petals 
made  a  perfumed  tragedy  of  snow  upon  the 
garden  paths. 

Tatsu  grew  to  love  the  old  dragon  plum  as 
Ume-ko  had  loved  it.  She  was  its  narne- 
child,  Ume,  and  he  felt  its  sweetness  to  be 
one  with  her.  At  night  the  perfume  crept  in 
to  him  through  crannies  of  the  close-shut 
amado  and  shoji,  revivifying,  to  keen  agony, 
his  longing  for  his  wife.  There  were  moonlit 
nights  he  could  not  rest  for  it,  but  would  rise, 
pacing  the  cold,  wet  pebbles  of  the  garden,  or 
wandering,  like  a  distracted  spirit  that  had 
lost  its  way,  through  the  thoroughfares  of  the 
sleeping  town. 

His  whole  life  now,  since  he  had  cheated 
233 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

death,  was  blurred  and  vague.  To  himself  he 
seemed  an  unreal  thing  projected,  like  a  phan 
tom  light,  upon  the  wavering  umbra  of  two 
contrasting  worlds.  The  halves  of  him,  body 
and  animating  thought,  fitted  each  other 
loosely,  and  had  a  strange  desire  to  drift  apart. 
The  quiet,  obedient  Tatsu,  regaining  day  by 
day  the  strength  and  beauty  that  his  clean 
youth  owed  him,  was  to  the  inner  Tatsu  but 
a  painted  shell.  The  real  self,  clouded  in 
eternal  grief,  knew  clarity  and  purpose  only 
before  a  certain  flower-set  shrine.  He  be 
lieved  now,  implicitly,  that  Ume's  soul  dwelt 
near  him,  was  often  with  him  in  this  room. 
A  resolve  half  formed,  and  but  partially  ad 
mitted  to  himself,  —  for  things  of  the  other 
world  are  not  well  to  meddle  with,  —  grew 
slowly  in  him,  to  compel,  by  worship  and 
never-relaxing  prayer,  the  presence  of  her 
self,  —  her  insubstantiate  body,  outlined  upon 
the  ether  in  pale  light,  or  formed  in  planes  of 
ghostly  mist.  Others  had  thus  drawn  visions 
from  the  under- world,  and  why  not  he  ? 
234 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Even  now  she  was,  for  him,  the  one  fact  of  the 
ten  existences.  She  knew  it  and  he  knew  it. 
Why  should  not  sight  be  added  to  the  un 
challenged  datum  of  the  mind.  Living,  they 
had  often  read  each  other's  thoughts.  They 
held,  he  knew,  as  yet,  their  separate  intelli 
gences,  —  still  they  could  bridge  a  blessed 
duality  by  love.  Even  now  it  would  have 
surprised  him  little  to  hear  the  very  sound  of 
her  voice  echo  from  the  inner  shrine,  to  feel  a 
little  white  hand  pass  like  a  cloud  across  his 
upraised  brow.  At  such  moments  he  told 
himself  that  he  was  satisfied,  she  was  his  until 
death  and  beyond.  No  one  could  separate 
them  now ! 

These  were,  alas,  the  higher  peaks  of  love. 
There  waited  for  him,  as  he  knew  too  well, 
steep  hillsides  set  with  swords,  and  valleys 
terrible  with  fire. 

"  So  that  we  be  together, 

Even  the  Hell  of  the  Blood  Lake, 
Even  the  Mountain  of  Swords, 
Mean  nothing  to  us  at  all!  " 

235 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

So  they  had  sung.  So  that  we  be  together  ! 
Ah,  together,  —  that  was  the  essence  of  it, 
that  the  key  !  "  And  this  is  what  I  want !  " 
groaned  the  suffering  man.  "  This  ghostly 
resignation  is  a  self-numbing  of  the  heart. 
I  care  not  for  the  ghost,  the  spirit,  however 
pure.  I  want  the  wife  I  have  lost,  —  her 
smile,  her  voice,  her  little  hands  to  touch 
me  !  Oh,  Ume-ko,  my  wife,  my  wife  !  "  If, 
as  the  abbot  said,  this  phase  of  grief  were 
bestial,  were  unworthy  of  the  woman  who 
had  died  for  him,  then  why  did  not  the 
listening  soul  of  her  shrink  ?  He  knew  that 
it  was  not  repelled,  whatever  the  frenzy  of 
his  grief.  Indeed,  at  such  times  of  agony 
she  leaned  down  closer,  longing  to  comfort 
him.  If  it  were  given  her  to  speak  she 
would  have  cried,  "  My  husband  ! "  Wher 
ever  she  might  drift,  —  in  the  black  ocean, 
in  the  Meido-land,  yes,  even  in  the  smile  of 
Buddha  on  his  throne,  —  she  yearned  for  her 
lover  as  he  for  her,  with  a  human  love ;  she 
stretched  out  arms  of  mist  to  him,  and 
236 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

tinged  the  pale  ether  of  the  spirit  world  with 
love's  rosy  flame. 

One  such  night,  during  the  time  of  plum- 
tree  falling,  when  the  boy,  tortured  by  the 
almost  human  sweetness  of  the  flowers,  had 
risen  from  his  bed  to  flee  memory  across  the 
wide,  cold  plains  of  night,  he  had  left,  in  his 
hurried  going,  the  doors  and  shutters  of  his 
room  spread  wide.  Mata  and  old  Kano, 
accustomed  to  these  midnight  sounds,  merely 
turned  on  their  lacquered  pillows,  murmured 
"  Poor  tormented  Tatsu,"  and  went  to  sleep 
again.  It  had  been  a  day  of  power  for  the 
young  artist,  but  not  a  day  of  peace.  The 
picture  he  had  worked  on  he  would  have 
called  one  of  his  "  nightmare  fancies."  It 
showed  a  slender  form  in  gray  with  one  arm 
about  a  willow.  She  and  the  tree  both 
leaned  above  swift,  flowing  water,  and  her 
eyes  were  fixed  in  sombre  brooding.  On  the 
bank,  in  abrupt  foreshortening,  lay  the  figure 
of  a  man.  He  looked  at  her.  From  the 
river,  unmarked  as  yet  by  either,  rose  the 
237 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

gray  face  and  long,  red  hair  of  a  Kappa,  or 
malicious  river  sprite.  This  sketch,  unfin 
ished,  for  the  Kappa  was  a  mere  indication  of 
red  locks  and  a  tall,  thin  form,  stood  against 
a  pillar  of  the  tokonoma  at  just  the  angle 
where  the  soft  light  of  the  butsu-dan  shed  a 
pale  glow  across  it.  Brushes,  paints,  and  vari 
ous  small  saucers  littered  the  floor.  Tatsu 
had  stopped  his  work  abruptly,  overcome 
by  the  very  power  of  his  own  delineation. 

He  was  absent  from  the  house  for  sev 
eral  hours.  The  long  walk  through  unseen 
streets  and  over  unnoticed  bridges  had  given 
the  boon,  at  least,  of  physical  fatigue.  Now, 
perhaps,  he  could  get  to  sleep  before  the 
black  ants  of  thought  had  rediscovered  him. 
Entering  the  room  quietly  he  closed  the  shoji, 
smoothed  the  bed-clothes  with  an  impatient 
hand,  and  knelt,  for  an  instant,  before  the 
shrine.  Perhaps,  after  all,  rest  was  not  to 
come.  The  air  was  sweet  and  heavy  with 
Ume-ko.  The  faint  perfume  of  sandalwood 
which,  living,  always  hung  about  her  gar- 
238 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

merits,  flowed  in  with  the  odor  of  the  plum. 
She  must  be  near,  —  Ume  herself,  in  mor 
tal  garments.  In  the  next  room,  the  ver 
anda,  hiding  in  the  closet  to  spring  out 
merrily  upon  him !  He  groaned  and  strove 
to  plunge  his  mind  into  prayer. 

The  unfinished  picture  stood  close  at  hand. 
Suddenly  he  noticed  it,  and,  with  a  gasp, 
stooped  to  it.  Something  had  changed  ;  the 
whole  vibration  of  its  lines  were  subtly  new. 
There  was  the  girl's  figure,  the  leaning  wil 
low,  the  man,  —  content,  insensate,  sprawling 
upon  the  bank,  —  but  the  Kappa  !  Buddha 
the  Merciful,  could  it  be  true  ?  Where  he 
had  left  a  Kappa,  waiting  until  to-morrow 
to  give  the  triumph,  the  leering  satisfac 
tion  at  the  human  grief  it  fed  on,  rose 
the  white  form  and  pitying  face  of  Kwannon 
Sama,  —  she  to  whom  his  Ume  loved  to 
pray.  The  eyes,  soft,  humid  with  compas 
sion,  looked  directly  out  to  his.  They  were 
Ume's  eyes !  He  caught  up  one  brush  after 
the  other.  All  had  been  used,  and  Ume's 
239 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

touch  was  upon  them.     Her  aura  permeated 
them. 

He  rushed  now  to  the  veranda.  In 
leaving  the  rooms,  three  hours  before,  he  had 
not  taken  the  usual  stone  step  which  led  into 
the  garden  under  the  branches  of  the  plum, 
but  had  leaped  directly  from  the  low  floor 
ing,  not  caring  where  he  trod.  He  remem 
bered  now  that  the  stone  had  been  white  in 
the  moonlight.  It  was  now  swept  clean  of 
petals,  as  though  by  the  hurried  trailing  of 
a  woman's  dress.  AVas  this  the  way  in  which 
she  was  to  manifest  herself  ?  And  would 
a  spirit-robe  brush  surfaces  so  vehemently  ? 
And  would  a  ghostly  hand  use  brushes  and 
pigments  of  ground -earth  ? 

Unable  to  endure  the  room,  he  went  again 
into  the  night,  no  further  this  time  than  the 
little  garden.  In  the  neighborhood  dogs 
were  barking  fiercely,  as  though  in  the  wake 
of  a  presence.  By  sound  he  followed  it,  and 
it  moved  up  the  hill.  The  very  garden  now 
was  tinged  with  sandalwood. 
240 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Until  the  dawn,  and  after,  he  walked  the 
pebbled  paths,  not  thinking,  indeed  not  fear 
ing,  hoping,  or  giving  conscious  form  to  spec 
ulation.  He  was  dazed.  But  the  young  blood 
in  his  veins  ran  alternate  currents  of  fire  and 
ice. 

With  the  first  sun-ray  he  perceived  a  com 
panion  in  the  dewy  solitude.  He  had  noticed 
the  figure  before,  but  always,  until  this  hour, 
at  twilight.  It  was  the  form  of  a  nun  stand 
ing,  high  above  him  on  the  temple  cliff,  with 
one  arm  about  a  tree. 

After  this  nothing  mysterious  broke  the 
quiet  routine  of  his  life.  The  presence  of 
Ume  in  the  chamber  seemed  to  fade  a  little, 
but,  for  some  reason  inexplicable  to  himself, 
this  brought  now  no  poignant  grief.  He 
did  not  tell  the  wonderful  thing  to  Mata  or 
old  Kano,  but  hid  the  still  unfinished  picture 
where  no  one  but  himself  could  see  it. 

So  February  passed,  and  March. 


16 


XI 


WITH  April  came  the  cherry- 
flowers,  wistaria,  and  peonies ; 
with  iris  in  the  bud,  and  shy 
hedge- violets ;  wonder  of  yama  buki  shrubs 
that  played  gold  fountains  on  the  hills,  and 
the  swift,  bright  contagion  of  young  grass. 
Even  from  old  Kano's  moon-viewing  hillock 
one  might  see,  in  looking  out  across  the  desert 
of  gray  city  roofs,  round  tops  of  cherry  trees 
rising  like  puffs  of  rosy  smoke.  From  out 
the  face  of  the  temple  cliff  long,  supple 
fronds  of  ferns  unrolled,  bending  uncertain 
arms  toward  the  garden.  The  tangled  sasa- 
grass  rustled  new  sleeves  of  silk;  and  the 
great  camphor  tree,  air-hung  in  blue,  seemed 
caught  in  a  jewelled  mesh  of  chrysoprase  and 
gold. 

242 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Down  in  the  lower  level  of  the  garden, 
too,  springtime  busied  itself  with  beauty. 
The  potted  plants,  once  Ume-ko's  loved 
charges,  had  become  now,  quite  mysteriously 
to  himself,  Tatsu's  companions  and  his  special 
care.  Among  the  more  familiar  growths  a 
few  foreign  bushes  had  been  given  place, 
a  rose,  a  heliotrope,  and  a  small,  frightened 
cyclamen.  Slips  of  chrysanthemum  needed 
already  to  be  set  for  the  autumn  yield. 
Tatsu,  watering  and  tending  them,  thought 
with  wistful  sadness  upon  these  plans  for 
future  enjoyment.  "  We  are  all  bound 
upon  the  wheel  of  life,"  he  said  to  them. 
"  Would  that  with  me,  as  you,  the  turning 
were  but  for  a  single  season ! " 

"  My  son,"  the  elder  man  began  abruptly, 
at  a  certain  noonday  meal  about  the  middle 
of  the  month,  "how  is  it  that  you  never  go 
with  me  to  the  temple  on  the  hill  ? " 

Tatsu  looked  up  from  his  rice-bowl  in 
some  surprise.  The  relations  between  these 
two,  though  externally  kind,  had  never  ap- 
243 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

preached  intimacy.  Kano  indeed  idolized 
his  adopted  son  with  pathetic  and  undis 
guised  fervor ;  but  with  Tatsu,  though  other 
things  might  have  been  forgiven,  the  old 
man's  continued  disrespect  to  his  daughter's 
memory,  his  refusal  to  join  even  in  the  sim 
plest  ceremony  of  devotion,  kept  both  him 
and  old  Mata  chilled  and  distant.  The  one 
possible  explanation,  —  aside  from  that  of 
wanton  cruelty,  —  was  a  thing  so  marvellous, 
so  terrible  in  implied  suggestion,  that  the 
boy's  faint  soul  could  make  for  it  no  present 
home ;  let  it  drift,  a  great  luminous 
nebula  of  hope,  a  little  longer  on  the  rim 
of  nothingness. 

The  answer  now  to  Kano's  question  be 
trayed  a  hint  of  the  more  rational  animosity. 

"  You  had  never  seemed  to  desire  it.  And 
I  have  my  place  of  worship  here." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Of  course  I  knew  that !  " 
the  other  hurried  on  in  some  agitation.  Then 
he  paused,  as  if  uncertain  how  to  word  the 
following  thought.  "  I  do  wish  it  !  "  he 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

broke  forth,  with  an  effort.  "I  make  re 
quest  now  that  you  go  with  me,  this  very 
day,  at  twilight." 

"If  it  is  your  honorable  desire,"  said 
Tatsu,  bowing  in  indifferent  acquiescence. 
A  moment  later  he  had  finished  his  meal, 
and  rose  to  go. 

Kano  moved  restlessly  on  the  mats.  He 
drew  out  the  solace  of  a  little  pipe,  but  his 
nervous  fingers  fumbled  and  shook  so,  that 
the  slim  rod  of  bamboo  tipped  with  silver 
escaped  him,  and  went  clattering  down 
among  the  empty  dishes  of  the  tray.  Mata's 
apprehensive  face  showed  instantly  at  a  part 
ing  of  the  kitchen  fusuma.  She  sighed  aloud, 
as  she  noted  a  great  triangle  chipped  from 
the  edge  of  an  Imari  bowl.  Only  two  of 
those  bowls  had  remained ;  now  there  was 
but  one. 

"  Tatsu,  my  son,  may  I  depend  upon 
you  ?  This  day,  as  soon  as  the  light  begins 
to  fail?" 

Tatsu,  in  the  doorway,  paused  to  look. 
245 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Evidently  the  speaker  struggled  with  a  strong 
excitement.  Something  in  the  twitching  face, 
the  eager,  shifting  eyes,  brought  back  a  vision 
of  that  meal  on  the  evening  that  preceded 
Ume's  death,  when  she  and  her  father  had 
leaned  together,  whispering,  ignoring  him, 
and  afterward  had  left  the  house,  giving  him 
no  hint  of  their  errand.  He  felt  with  dread 
a  premonition  of  new  bitterness. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  at  the  twilight  hour,"  he 
said,  and  went  to  his  room. 

That  afternoon  Tatsu  did  little  painting. 
Silent  and  motionless  as  one  of  the  frames 
against  the  wall,  he  sat  staring  for  long  inter 
vals  out  upon  the  garden.  The  sunshine 
gave  no  pleasure,  only  a  blurring  of  his  sight. 
Beauty  was  not  there  for  him,  this  day.  He 
was  thinking  of  those  hours  of  October  sun 
light,  when  the  whole  earth  reeled  with  joy, 
for  Ume-ko  was  of  it !  Where  was  she  now  ? 
And  what  had  there  been  in  Kano's  look 
and  voice  to  rouse  those  sleeping  demons  of 
despair  ?  Could  any  new  sorrow  await  him 
246 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

at  the  temple  ?  No,  his  present  condition 
had  at  least  the  negative  value  of  absolute 
void.  From  nothing,  nothing  could  be  taken ; 
and  to  it,  nothing  be  supplied  ! 

In  spite  of  this  colorless  assurance  it  was 
with  something  of  reluctance,  of  shrinking, 
that  he  prepared  to  leave  the  house.  Few 
words  were  spoken  between  the  two.  Catch 
ing  up  the  skirts  of  narrow,  silken  robes  a 
little  higher,  they  tucked  the  folds  into  their 
belts,  and  side  by  side  began  the  long,  slow 
climbing  of  the  road. 

The  city  roofs  beneath  them  hurried  off  to 
the  edge  of  the  world  like  ripples  left  in  the 
gray  sand-bed  of  a  stream.  Above  the  plain 
the  mist  drew  in  its  long,  horizontal  lines  of 
gray. 

About  half  the  distance  up  the  steep  the 
temple  bell  above  them  sounded  six  slow, 
deliberate  strokes.  First  came  the  sonorous 
impact  of  the  swinging  beam  against  curved 
metal,  then  the  "boom,"  the  echo, — the 
echoes  of  that  echo  to  endless  repetition, 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

sifting  in  layers  through  the  thinner  air  upon 
them,  sweeping  like  vapor  low  along  the  hill 
side  with  a  presence  and  reality  so  intense 
that  it  should  have  had  color,  or,  at  least,  per 
fume  ;  settling  in  a  fine  dew  of  sound  on 
quivering  ferns  and  grasses,  permeating,  it 
would  seem,  with  its  melodious  vibration  the 
very  wood  of  the  houses  and  the  trunks  of 
living  trees. 

Reaching  at  last  the  temple  court,  old 
Kano  took  the  lead,  crossed  the  wide-pebbled 
space,  and  halted  with  his  companion  at  the 
edge  of  the  cliff.  A  cry  of  wonder  came  from 
Tatsu's  lips ;  that  low,  inimitable  cry  of  the 
true  artist  at  some  new  stab  of  beauty.  Deli 
cately  the  old  man  withdrew,  and  hid  himself 
in  the  shadow  of  the  temple. 

Tatsu  stared  out,  alone.  He  saw  the  round 
bay  like  a  mirror,  —  like  Ume's  mirror  ;  and 
to  the  west  the  peak  of  Fuji,  a  porphyry  cone 
against  the  sunset  splendor.  No  wonder  that 
the  gray  nuns  came  here  at  this  hour,  or  that 
she,  the  slender,  isolated  one,  lingered  to  drain 
248 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

the  last  bright  drop  of  beauty !  He  looked 
about  now  to  discover  her  tree.  Yes,  there 
it  was,  quite  close ;  not  a  willow  as  he  had 
sometimes  thought,  but  a  young  maple,  un 
usually  upright  of  growth.  It  had  been  leaf 
less,  but  now  the  touch  of  spring  had  lighted 
every  twig  with  a  pale  flame-point  of  red. 
He  recalled  that  in  the  autumn  it  had  made 
a  crimson  heart  against  the  sky ;  and  later 
had  sent  down  into  the  Kano  garden  frail 
alms  of  ruby  films.  Ume  had  loved  to  catch 
them  in  her  hands,  wondering  at  their  bright 
ness,  and  trying  to  make  him  wonder,  too. 
Love-letters  of  the  passing  year,  she  called 
them  ;  songs  dyed  with  the  autumn's  heart 's- 
blood  of  regret  that  he  must  yield  the  sweet, 
warm  earth  to  his  gray  rival,  winter.  She 
had  pretended  that  the  small,  crossed  veinlets 
of  the  leaves  were  Chinese  ideographs  which 
it  was  given  her  to  decipher.  Holding  him 
off  with  one  outstretched  arm  she  would 
have  read  to  him,  —  fantastic,  exquisite  in 
terpreter  of  love,  —  but  he,  mad  brute,  had 

249 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

caught  the  little  hands,  the  autumn  leaves, 
and  crushed  them  to  one  hot  glow,  crying 
aloud  that  nature,  beauty,  love  were  all  made 
one  in  her.  Such  grief  he  must  have  given 
many  times. 

He  threw  his  head  back  as  in  sudden  hurt, 
a  gesture  becoming  habitual  to  him,  and  drew 
a  long,  impatient,  tremulous  sigh.  As  if  to 
cast  aside  black  thought,  he  strode  over 
quickly  to  the  maple  tree,  flung  an  arm 
around  it,  and  leaned  over  to  stare  down  into 
his  garden  with  the  gray  nun's  eyes.  There 
it  was,  complete,  though  in  miniature ;  — 
rocks,  pines,  the  pigmy  pool,  the  hillock 
squatting  in  one  corner  like  an  old,  gray 
garden  toad,  and  in  another  corner,  scarcely 
of  larger  size,  the  cottage. 

Kano  plucked  nervously  at  his  sleeve. 
"  You  lean  too  far.  Come,  Tatsu,  I  have  a 
—  a  —  place  to  show  you." 

Tatsu  wheeled  with  a  start.  Try  as  he 
would  he  shivered  and  grew  faint,  even  yet, 
at  the  sound  of  Kano's  voice  breaking  ab- 
250 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ruptly  in  upon  a  silence.  He  gave  a  nod  of 
acquiescence  and,  with  downbent  head,  fol 
lowed  his  guide  diagonally  across  the  temple 
court,  past  the  wide  portico  where  sparrows 
and  pigeons  fought  for  night-quarters  in  the 
carved,  open  mouths  of  dragons,  along  the 
side  of  the  main  building  until,  to  Tatsu's 
wonder,  they  stopped  before  a  little  gate  in 
the  nunnery  wall. 

"  I  thought  it  was  almost  death  for  a  man 
to  enter  here  ! "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  For  most  men  it  is,"  said  Kano,  producing 
a  key  of  hammered  brass  about  nine  inches 
long.  "  But  I  desired  to  go  the  short  path  to 
the  cemetery,  and  it  lies  this  way.  As  I  have 
told  you,  the  abbot  was  my  boyhood's  friend." 

Within  the  convent  yard,  —  a  sandy  space 
enclosed  in  long,  low  buildings  of  unpainted 
wood,  —  Tatsu  saw  a  few  gray  figures  hurry 
ing  to  cover ;  and  noticed  that  more  than 
one  bright  pair  of  eyes  peered  out  at  them 
through  bamboo  lattices.  Over  the  whole 
place  brooded  the  spirit  of  unearthly  peace 
251 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

and  sweetness  which  had  been  within  the 
gift  of  the  holy  bishop  and  his  acolytes  even 
at  that  time  of  torment  in  the  hospital  cell. 
The  same  faint  Presence,  like  a  plum  tree 
blossoming  in  the  dark,  stole  through  the 
young  man's  senses,  luring  and  distressing 
him  with  its  infinite  suggestions  of  lost  peace. 
At  the  farther  wall  of  the  court  they  came 
to  an  answering  door.  This  was  already  un 
locked  and  partially  ajar.  It  opened  directly 
upon  the  highest  terrace  of  the  cemetery 
which  led  down  steeply  in  great,  curved, 
irregular  steps  to  a  plain.  The  crimson  light 
in  the  west  had  almost  gone.  Here  to  the 
north,  where  rice-fields  and  small  huddled 
villages  stretched  out  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see,  a  band  of  hard,  white  light  still  rested  on 
the  horizon,  throwing  back  among  the  hill 
side  graves  a  pale,  metallic  sheen.  Each 
shaft  of  granite  was  thus  divided,  one  upright 
half,  blue  shadow,  the  other  a  gray-green 
gleam.  All  looked  of  equal  height.  A  gray 
stone  Buddha  on  his  lotos  pedestal,  or  the 
252 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

long  graceful  lines  of  a  standing  Jizo,  only 
served  to  emphasize  the  uniformity. 

This  was  a  place  most  dear  to  Kano,  and 
had  been  made  so  to  his  child.  He  even 
loved  the  look  of  the  tombs.  "  Gray,  splin 
tered  stalagmites  of  memory,"  he  had  called 
them,  and  when  the  child  Um&  had  learned 
the  meaning  of  the  simile  she  had  put  her 
little  finger  to  a  spot  of  lichen  and  asked, 
"  Then  are  these  silver  spots  our  tears  ? " 

The  old  man  stepped  down  very  softly  to 
the  second  tier.  A  nightingale  was  calling 
low  its  liquid  invocation,  "  Ho-ren-k-y-y- 
o-o-o !  "  Perhaps  old  Kano  moved  so  softly 
that  he  might  not  lose  the  echoes  of  this  cry. 
The  two  men  seemed  alone  in  the  silent  scene. 
Once  Tatsu  thought  his  eye  caught  a  swift 
flicker,  as  of  a  gray  sleeve,  but  he  was  not 
sure.  At  any  rate  he  would  not  think  of  it, 
or  speculate,  or  marvel !  He  was  beginning 
to  tremble  before  the  unknown.  The  sense 
of  shrinking,  of  miracle,  of  being,  perhaps, 
too  small  to  contain  the  thing  decreed,  bore 
253 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

hard  upon  him.  With  it  came  a  keen  impres 
sion  of  the  unreality  of  the  material  universe, 
—  of  Buddhist  illusion.  Even  these  adaman 
tine  records  of  death,  rising  on  every  side  to 
challenge  him, —  even  these  might  recombine 
their  particles  before  his  very  eyes,  —  might 
shiver  into  mist  and  float  down  to  the  plain 
to  mingle  with  the  smoke  of  cooking  as  it  rose 
from  the  peasant  huts.  Anything  might  hap 
pen,  or  nothing ! 

Kano  had  stopped  short  before  a  grave. 
For  once  Tatsu  was  glad  to  hear  his  voice. 

"  Here  lie  the  clean  ashes  of  my  young  wife, 
Kano  Uta-ko,"  said  the  old  man,  without 
preface  or  explanation. 

"In  former  days,  before — before  my  illness, 
I  came  here  often,"  said  the  other.  His  eyes 
hung  on  the  written  words  of  the  kaimyo. 
"  If  you  grieved  deeply,  it  must  have  been 
great  solace  that  you  could  come  thus  to  her 
grave,"  he  added  wistfully.  Then,  as  Kano 
still  remained  silent,  he  read  aloud  the  beau 
tiful  daishi,  "  A  flower  having  blossomed 

254 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

in  the  night,  the  Halls  of  the  Gods  are 
Fragrant." 

Kano  drew  a  long  sigh.  "  For  nineteen 
years  I  have  mourned  her,"  he  went  on 
slowly.  "  As  you  know,  a  son  was  not 
given  to  us.  She  died  at  Ume's  birth.  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  replace  her,  even 
in  the  dear  longing  for  a  son." 

"  A  son ! "  Tatsu  knew  well  what  the  old 
man  meant.  He  lifted  his  eyes  and  stared 
out,  mute,  into  the  narrowing  band  of  light. 
The  old  man  drew  his  thin  form  very 
straight,  moved  a  few  feet  that  he  might 
look  squarely  into  the  other's  face,  and  said 
deliberately.  "  So  did  I  mourn  the  young 
wife  whom  I  loved,  and  so,  if  I  know 
men,  will  you  mourn,  Kano  Tatsu.  Of 
such  enduring  stuff  will  be  your  grief  for 
Ume-ko." 

It  was  said.     The  old  man's  promise  had 

been  torn  like  a  leaf,  —  not  to  be  mended 

or  recalled,  —  torn  and  flung  at  his  listener's 

feet.     Yet  such  was  the  simplicity  of  utter- 

255 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ance,  such  the  nobility  of  poise,  the  beauty 
of  the  old  face  set  like  a  silver  wedge 
into  the  deepening  mist,  that  Tatsu  could 
only  give  him  look  for  look,  with  no  re 
sentment.  The  young  voice  had  taken  on 
strangely  the  timbre  of  the  old  as,  in  equal 
soberness,  he  answered, 

"  Such,  Kano  Indara,  though  I  be  bur 
dened  with  years  as  many  as  your  own,  — 
will  be  the  never-ceasing  longing  for  my  lost 
wife,  Ume-ko." 

A  little  sob,  loosed  suddenly  upon  the 
night,  sped  past  them.  "  What  was  it  ? 
Who  is  there  ?  "  cried  Tatsu,  sharply,  wheel 
ing  round. 

Kano  began  to  shake.  "  Perhaps  —  per 
haps  a  night-bird,"  he  stammered  out. 

"  A  bird  ! "  echoed  Tatsu.  "  That  sound 
was  human.  It  is  a  woman,  the  Presence 
that  has  hung  about  me !  Put  down  your 
arms,  —  you  cannot  keep  me  back  !  " 

"  Be  still ! "  cried  out  old  Kano  in  the 
voice  of  angry  kings.  "  Nothing  will  happen, 
256 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

—  nothing,  I  say,  if  you  act  thus  like  the 
untamed  creature  that  you  were  !  Your  fate 
is  still  in  my  hands,  Kano  Tatsu  ! " 

Tatsu  fell  down  upon  his  knees,  pulling  at 
the  old  man's  sleeves.  "  Father,  father, 
have  pity !  I  will  be  self- controlled  and 
docile  as  1  have  been  these  long,  long 
months.  But  now  there  is  a  thing  so  great 
that  would  possess  me,  my  soul  faints  and 
sickens.  Father,  I  ask  your  help,  your 
tenderness.  I  think  I  have  wronged  you 
from  the  first,  —  my  father ! " 

Suddenly  the  old  man  hurled  his  staff 
away  and  sank  weeping  into  the  stronger 
arms.  "  I  fear,  I  fear ! "  he  wailed.  "  It 
may  be  still  too  early.  But  she  said  not,  — 
the  abbot  counselled  it !  O  gods  of  the 
Kano  home  ! " 

"  Father,"  asked  Tatsu,  rising  slowly  to 
his  feet,  his  arms  still  close  about  the  other, 
"  can  it  be  joy  that  is  to  find  me,  even  in 
this  life?" 

"Wait,  you  shall  see,"  cried  the  old  man, 
'?  257 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

now  laughing  aloud,  now  weeping,  like 
a  hysterical  girl.  "  You  shall  see  in  a 
moment !  My  dead  wife  takes  me  by  the 
hand  and  leads  me  from  you, — just  a  little 
way,  dear  Tatsu,  just  here  among  the 
shadows.  No  longer  are  the  shadows  for 
you, — joy  is  for  you.  Yes,  Uta-ko,  I'm 
coming.  The  young  love  springs  like  new 
lilies  from  the  old.  Stand  still,  my  son ; 
be  hushed,  that  joy  may  find  you." 

He  faltered  backward  and  was  lost.  Upon 
the  hillside  came  a  stillness  deeper  than  any 
previous  interval  of  pause.  From  it  the 
nightingale's  low  note  thrust  out  a  wavering 
clew.  The  day  had  gone,  and  a  few  stars 
dotted  the  vault  of  the  sky.  Tatsu  threw 
back  his  head.  There  was  no  pain  in  the 
gesture  now ;  he  was  trying  to  make  room 
in  his  soul  for  an  unspeakable  visitor.  The 
arch  of  heaven  had  grown  trivial.  Eternity 
was  his  one  boundary.  The  stars  twinkled 
in  his  blood. 

He  heard  the  small  human  sob  again,  just 
258 


Then  a  little  hand,  stealing  from  a  nun's  gray  sleeve,  slipped 
into  his."     Puyv  -259. 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

at  his  elbow.  All  at  once  he  was  frozen  in 
his  place ;  he  could  not  turn  or  move.  His 
arms  hung  to  his  sides,  his  throat  stiffened  in 
its  upward  lines.  And  then  a  little  hand, 
stealing  from  a  nun's  gray  sleeve,  slipped  into 
his,  and  in  a  pause,  a  hush,  it  was  before  the 
full  splendor  of  love's  cry,  he  turned  and  saw 
that  it  was  Ume-ko,  his  wife. 

Yeddo  and  modern  Tokyo  alike  give 
entertainment  to  the  traditional  nine  days' 
wonder.  Sometimes  the  wonder  does  not 
fade  at  all,  and  so  it  was  with  the  case  of 
Tatsu  and  his  wife.  If  he  had  been  an  idol, 
he  was  now  a  demigod,  Ume-ko  sharing  the 
sweet  divinity  of  human  tenderness  with  him. 

Had  it  all  happened  a  century  before,  the 
people  would  have  built  for  them  a  yashiro, 
with  altar  and  a  shrine.  Here  they  would 
have  been  worshipped  as  gods  still  in  the 
flesh,  and  lovers  would  have  prayed  to  them 
for  aid  and  written  verses  and  burned  sweet 
incense. 

259 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Being  of  modern  Tokyo,  most  of  this  adu 
lation  went  into  newspaper  articles.  Old  men 
envied  Kano  his  dutiful  daughter,  young  men 
envied  Tatsu  his  beautiful  and  loving  wife. 
The  print-makers,  indeed,  perpetrated  a  series 
of  representations  that  put  old  Kano's  artistic 
teeth  on  edge.  First  there  was  Ume  at  the 
willow ;  then  Tatsu,  in  the  same  place, 
taking  his  mad  plunge  for  death's  oblivion ; 
Ume,  the  hooded  acolyte,  kneeling  in  the  sick 
chamber  at  the  head  of  her  husband's  bed ; 
Ume,  the  nun,  standing  each  day  at  twilight 
on  the  edge  of  the  temple  cliff  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  him  she  loved, ;  and,  at  the  last, 
Tatsu  and  Ume  rejoined  beside  the  tomb  of 
Kano  Uta-ko.  Fortunately  these  pictures 
were  never  seen  by  the  two  most  concerned. 

They  went  away  on  a  second  bridal  journey, 
this  time  to  Tatsu's  native  mountains  in  Kiu 
Shiu.  AA7hile  there,  the  good  friend  Ando 
Uchida  was  to  be  sought,  and  made  ac 
quainted  with  the  strange  history  of  the 
previous  months. 

260 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

Mata  and  her  old  master  remained  placidly 
at  home.  They  had  no  fears.  At  the  ap 
pointed  date  —  only  a  week  more  now  —  the 
two  would  come  back,  as  they  had  promised, 
to  begin  the  long,  tranquil  life  of  art  and 
happiness.  There  were  to  be  great  pictures  ! 
Kano  chuckled  and  rubbed  his  lean  hands 
together,  as  he  sat  in  his  lonely  room.  Then 
the  thought  faded,  for  a  tenderer  thought 
had  come.  In  a  year  or  more,  if  the  gods 
willed,  another  and  a  keener  blessedness 
might  be  theirs. 

To  dream  quite  delicately  enough  of  this, 
the  old  man  shut  his  eyes.  Oh,  it  was  a 
dream  to  make  the  springtime  of  the  world 
stir  at  the  roots  of  being !  A  tear  crept 
down  from  the  blue-veined  lids,  making  its 
way  through  wrinkles,  those  "  dry  river-beds 
of  smiles."  If  the  baby  fingers  came, — 
those  small,  fearless  fingers  that  were  one's 
own  youth  reborn,  -  -  they  would  press  out 
all  fretful  lines  of  age,  leaving  only  tender 
traceries.  He  leaned  forward,  listening.  Al- 

261 


THE    DRAGON    PAINTER 

ready  he  could  hear  the  tiny  feet  echo  along 
the  rooms,  could  see  small,  shaven  heads 
bowing  their  first  good  morning  to  the  O  Ji 
San,  —  revered,  beloved  patriarch  of  the 
home !  How  old  Mata  would  idolize  and 
scold  and  pet  them !  A  queer  old  soul  was 
Mata,  with  faults,  as  all  women  have,  but  in 
the  main,  a  treasure !  Good  times  were 
coming  for  the  old  folks  in  that  house  !  So 
sat  Kano,  dreaming,  in  his  empty  chamber ; 
and  unless  we  have  eternity  to  spare,  nod 
ding  beside  him  on  the  mats,  we  must  bow, 
murmuring,  "  Sayo-nara  ! " 


END 


The  work  of  a  genius.     A  story  that  will  live ' 


THE  BREATH  OF 
THE  GODS 


By  SIDNEY  McCALL 
Author  of  "Truth  Dexter" 

12mo.  Cloth,  431  pages.  $1.50 


A  great  American  novel,  if  not  the  American  novel.  — 
New  Orleans  Times  Democrat. 

A  novel  that  has  the  real  Japan  in  it  as  has  no  other 
novel  ever  written  in  the  English  tongue.  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

An  absorbing  love  story  that  throws  unusual  light  upon 
the  inner  life  of  Japan.  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

A  powerful  story  with  vivid  descriptions  and  a  thrilling 
and  unexpected  climax.  —  Boston  Herald. 

Strikes  an  unusual  note  and  will  live  beyond  the 
passing  hour.  —  St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

A  masterly  delineation  of  men  and  women  caught  in 
the  swift  current  of  events.  —  Baltimore  Sun. 

Yuki  is  a  charming  characterization,  dainty,  exquisite, 
flowerlike,  and  fascinating. —  Chicago  Journal. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers' 


The  Most  Lovable  Heroine  in  Modern  Fiction 


TRUTH  DEXTER 


By  SIDNEY  McCALL 

Author  of  "  The  Breath  of  the  Gods  " 

New  Illustrated  Edition,  with  8  full-page  pictures  by   Alice 

Barber  Stephens  and  title-page  vignette  by 

Jessie  Willcox  Smith 

12mo.     Decorated  cloth,  $1.50 

A  novel  of  united  North  and  South  of  rare  power  and 
absorbing  interest.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  not  one  of 
the  novels  which  appeared  last  year  on  either  side  of  the 
Atlantic  (including  those  from  the  pen  of  the  most  gifted 
writers)  was  superior  to  this  in  artistic  quality,  dramatic 
power,  and  human  interest  combined.  We  do  not  hope  to 
see  it  surpassed,  even  if  equalled. — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

Exceptionally  clever  and  brilliant,  it  has  what  are  rarely 
found  with  these  dazzling  qualities, —  delicacy  and  genuine 
sentiment. — Brooklyn  Times. 

A  fine,  sweet  and  strong  American  romance. — New  York 
World. 

I  don't  know  how  to  praise  it  enough.  I  can't  recall  any 
novel  which  has  interested  me  so  absorbingly  for  years. 
It  is  a  matchless  book  !  — -Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 

The  author  at  once  takes  place  among  the  foremost 
novelists  of  the  day.  —  Boston  Transcript. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


Date  Due 


PRINTED    IN    U.S.I 


CAT.    NO.    24    161 


UCSOUTH, 


M 


